"Not exactly, my lord."
"There must be much comfort in a pose," said Beresford.
Drewitt took a cigarette from the box, lit it, smiling at his cousin over the flame.
"Realities are uncomfortable bedfellows, Richard," he remarked. "Have you ever studied the night-side of London?"
"A bit," acknowledged Beresford.
"Can you imagine what it would be on lemonade and dry ginger-ale?"
"So your pose is to you what alcohol is to vice?"
"My finished demeanour as a man of the world," corrected Drewitt, "is to me what drink is to immorality. It prevents me from getting tired of myself. And now for Mr. Deacon Quelch." He passed out of the room, reappearing a few minutes later ready for calling.
"Now, Richard, I am, as good old Sir Thomas says, 'ready to be anything in the ecstacy of being ever.' I hope you are always careful in crossing the road," he said, as he took the hat and stick Hoskins handed to him.
"Crossing the road, my lord?"
"I mean that you take no undue risks. Remember, Hoskins, your life is not your own. It is inextricably linked up with my destiny, the link being your coffee. Now, Richard, I am at your service."
As they were about to enter the Belle Vue, they were conscious of a strange figure just in front of them.
