are all Stranleighites together, and I cannot allow this delightful, busy, brutal London to crumple one of us up. God bless my soul, Sally, you would not turn me hungry from your door if I were famishing, even though you owned only one crust of bread. You know you'd break it in two!"
Mrs. Bendale rose; her thin, paleface was twitching nervously, and her lower lip trembled.
"I'll call a cab for you," said Stranleigh, rising also, but she shook her head. Speaking was beyond her, and realising that she wished to go alone, he bade her a cheery good-bye and sat down again. A very pretty girl, with rosy cheeks, neat hair, and white apron, approached in response to his signal. He paid the bill, and gave a tip so generous that the handsome waitress smiled her sweetest, and Stranleigh smiled in return as he left the tea-room. He had told Mrs. Bendale that he required time to think, and he took this time as he walked very slowly down to Piccadilly, where he hailed a taximeter motor-cab.
"Brassard's," he said, as he stepped aboard.
He found that the name was potent, and no other directions were needed. The cabman knew where Brassard's huge emporium stood, even if certain members of the nobility did not. The establishment presented quite an imposing appearance to the street. When Brassard bought out an old-fashioned business he re-fronted it in keeping with the rest of his premises, and the huge windows of
