Among other patrons at "Malahide" were two quiet, polite little
Japanese gentlemen, Mr. Den and Mr. Yabe; Madame Galli, a shrivelled
old woman in a cheap wig, with sharp rat's eyes that nothing escaped,
the soul of good nature, rich, miserly and incredibly mischievous.
There were several boarders who were in business in the City, and Mr.
Hutton, a careworn man of fifty, who spent his days working in the
British Museum. Next to him at table sat Douglas Shafto, now a well
set-up, self-possessed young fellow, who still retained something of
the cheery voice and manner of the Public School boy. Thanks to his
steadiness and fair knowledge of French and German, he was drawing a
salary of a hundred and fifty per annum.

His neighbour on the left happened to be his own cousin, Sandy Larcher,
older by three years, and in the same office, but receiving a lower
"screw," Sandy was of the "knut" tribe, a confident authority on dress,
noisy, slangy, and familiar; much given to cigarettes and music-halls,
a slacker at work, but remarkably active at play and, on the whole,
rather a good sort.

Sandy's mother, Mrs. Larcher, the widow of a cab proprietor, was Mrs.
Shafto's only sister, and in the days of that sister's glory had never
obtruded herself; but now that poor Lucilla had come down in the world,
she had advanced with open arms, and at "Monte Carlo," the abode of the
Larcher family, Mrs. Shafto occasionally spent a week end. The
"go-as-you-please" atmosphere, late hours, breakfast in bed, and casual
meals, recalled old, and not unhappy times. Mrs. Larcher, who had
never been a beauty, was now a fat woman past fifty, lazy,
good-natured, and absolutely governed by her children. Besides Sandy,
the dandy, she had two daughters, Delia and Cossie.