knew that he was right each time. Damn Wych Street! He turned on Mr.
Sandeman.

"Oh, nonsense! You may know something about these--eastern cities; you
certainly know nothing about London if you make a statement like that.
Wych Street was a little further east of what is now the Gaiety
Theatre. It used to run by the side of the old Globe Theatre, parallel
to the Strand."

The dark moustache of Mr. Sandeman shot upwards, revealing a narrow
line of yellow teeth. He uttered a sound that was a mingling of
contempt and derision; then he drawled out:

"Really? How wonderful--to have such comprehensive knowledge!"

He laughed, and his small eyes fixed his rival. Lowes-Parlby flushed a
deep red. He gulped down half a glass of port and muttered just above a
whisper: "Damned impudence!" Then, in the rudest manner he could
display, he turned his back deliberately on Sandeman and walked out of
the room.

* * * * *

In the company of Adela he tried to forget the little contretemps. The
whole thing was so absurd--so utterly undignified. As though _he_
didn't know! It was the little accumulation of pin-pricks all arising
out of that one argument. The result had suddenly goaded him to--well,
being rude, to say the least of it. It wasn't that Sandeman mattered.
To the devil with Sandeman! But what would his future father-in-law
think? He had never before given way to any show of ill-temper before