trade.

It exasperated Shafto to listen to his mother's "table talk," and he
made a point of sitting as far as possible from her vicinity. She
liked to impress Levison and other with highly-coloured reminiscences
of her grand acquaintances; even the Tremenheeres--with whom she had
quarrelled so bitterly--were dragged in and shown off as intimates.
More than once Shafto had felt his face burn, as exaggerations and
glorifications were unfolded in his parent's far-carrying and assertive
treble.

Besides Mr. Manasseh Levison, were the two Misses
Smith--twins--genteel, middle-aged spinsters, who, until the arrival of
the sprightly and attractive widow, had alternately cherished high
hopes of the wealthy Jew. Their chief energies were devoted to the
task of blowing one another's trumpets, thereby drawing attention to
particular virtues and modestly hidden accomplishments. For example,
the elder would say:

"Darling Ella is so clever at cooking, as good as any French chef, her
sauces and savouries are too wonderful."

They were!

And Ella, in repayment, assured her listeners that Jessie had a perfect
genius for gardening and housekeeping; and yet it was whispered that
this effusively fond couple, when alone, quarrelled and wrangled as
cruelly as the notorious Kilkenny cats.

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, wa