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 which led to the yard, and his ruddy face betrayed an oleaginous solicitude which invited confidence. He had a bald head of unimpeachable reverence, and grey hair which, if it did not, should have commanded respect. Also, he had a soft, inviting way with him which had been known to succeed with the less sophisticated.

“Did he row you?” he asked sympathetically.

“Row me? No. Why should he?”

“I really didn’t suppose ’e would; but you ’ave been in London a long time.”

“Couldn’t get the order delivered,” explained Ixion, who suddenly found himself wondering why he took the trouble to explain at all.

“No ’urry,” whispered George, looking exceedingly knowing. “I wouldn’t 7urry, neither, not me,” and he leered in a way which was not becoming in a man of his years, and which robbed even his bald head of its last vestige of reverence. “Me and Miss Short believe that they’re really on their ’oneymoon.”

“Oh, do you?” said Ixion curtly. “An’ who the dooce is Miss Short, when she’s at home?”