appreciate his luck. The fact of the matter was that he had only
just finished giving the father of the family his shilling, and he
was afraid that Claire had seen him doing it. For Claire, dear
girl, was apt to be unreasonable about these little generosities
of his. He cast a furtive glance behind him in the hope that the
disseminator of expiring roosters had vanished, but the man was
still at his elbow. Worse, he faced them, and in a hoarse but
carrying voice he was instructing Heaven to bless his benefactor.

'Halloa, Claire darling!' said Lord Dawlish, with a sort of
sheepish breeziness. 'Here you are.'

Claire was looking after the stud merchant, as, grasping his
wealth, he scuttled up the avenue.

'Only a bob,' his lordship hastened to say. 'Rather a sad case,
don't you know. Squads of children at home demanding bread. Didn't
want much else, apparently, but were frightfully keen on bread.'

'He has just gone into a public-house.'

'He may have gone to telephone or something, what?'

'I wish,' said Claire, fretfully, leading the way down the
grillroom stairs, 'that you wouldn't let all London sponge on you
like this. I keep telling you not to. I should have thought that
if any one needed to keep what little money he has got it was
you.'

Certainly Lord Dawlish would have been more prudent not to have