stand it, you know: their silly little teaparties—simply can't stand it. No, I live alone—and shall die alone.—At least, I sincerely hope so. I should be sorry to have any of them hanging round."
The restaurant was empty, the pale, malarial waiter—he had of course contracted malaria during the war—was looking purple round the eyes. But Argyle callously sat on. Aaron therefore rose to his feet.
"Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming," said Argyle.
He got unsteadily to his feet. The waiter helped him on with his coat: and he put a disreputable-looking little curly hat on his head. Then he took his stick.
"Don't look at my appearance, my dear fellow," said Argyle. "I am frayed at the wrists—look here!" He showed the cuffs of his overcoat, just frayed through. "I've got a trunkful of clothes in London, if only somebody would bring it out to me.—Ready then! Avanti!"
And so they passed out into the still rainy street. Argyle lived in the very centre of the town: in the Cathedral Square. Aaron left him at his hotel door.
"But come and see me," said Argyle. "Call for me at twelve o'clock—or just before twelve—and let us have luncheon together. What! Is that all right?—Yes, come just before twelve.—When?—Tomorrow? Tomorrow morning? Will you come tomorrow?"
Aaron said he would on Monday.
"Monday, eh! You say Monday! Very well then. Don't you forget now. Don't you forget. For I've a memory like a vice. I shan't forget.—Just before twelve then. And come right up. I'm right under the roof. In Paradise, as the porter always says. Siamo nel paradiso. But he's a crétin. As near Paradise as I care for, for it's devilish hot in summer, and damned cold in winter. Don't you forget now—Monday, twelve o'clock."
And Argyle pinched Aaron's arm fast, then went unsteadily up the steps to his hotel door.
The next day at Algy's there was a crowd Algy had a
