CHAPTER XVII

hadneverbeentoSimpson’srestaurantintheStrand.NowanotearrivedfromMissWilcox,askinghertolunchthere.MrCahillwascomingandthethreewouldhavesuchajollychat,andperhapsendupattheHippodrome.MargarethadnostrongregardforEvie,andnodesiretomeetherfiance,andshewassurprisedthatHelen,whohadbeenfarfunnieraboutSimpson’s,hadnotbeenaskedinstead.Buttheinvitationtouchedherbyitsintimatetone.ShemustknowEvieWilcoxbetterthanshesupposed,anddeclaringthatshe“simplymust,”sheaccepted. ButwhenshesawEvieattheentranceoftherestaurant,staringfiercelyatnothingafterthefashionofathleticwomen,herheartfailedheranew.MissWilcoxhadchangedperceptiblysinceherengagement.Hervoicewasgruffer,hermannermoredownright,andshewasinclinedtopatronisethemorefoolishvirgin.Margaretwassillyenoughtobepainedatthis.Depressedatherisolation,shesawnotonlyhousesandfurniture,butthevesseloflifeitselfslippingpasther,withpeoplelikeEvieandMr.Cahillonboard. Therearemomentswhenvirtueandwisdomfailus,andoneofthemcametoheratSimpson’sintheStrand.Asshetrodthestaircase,narrow,butcarpetedthickly,assheenteredtheeating-room,wheresaddlesofmuttonwerebeingtrundleduptoexpectantclergymen,shehadastrong,iferroneous,convictionofherownfutility,andwishedshehadnevercomeoutofherbackwater,wherenothinghappenedexceptartandliterature,andwherenooneevergotmarriedorsucceededinremainingengaged.Thencamealittlesurprise.“Fathermightbeoftheparty—yes,fatherwas.”Withasmileofpleasureshemovedforwardtogreethim,andherfeelingoflonelinessvanished. “IthoughtI’dgetroundifIcould,”saidhe.“Evietoldmeofherlittleplan,soIjustslippedinandsecuredatable.Alwayssecureatablefirst.Evie,don’tpretendyouwanttositbyyouroldfather,becauseyoudon’t.MissSchlegel,comeinmyside,outofpity.Mygoodness,butyoulooktired!Beenworryingroundafteryouryoungclerks?” “No,afterhouses,”saidMargaret,edgingpasthimintothebox.“I’mhungry,nottiredIwanttoeatheaps.” “That’sgood.What’llyouhave?” “Fishpie,”saidshe,withaglanceatthemenu. “Fishpie!FancycomingforfishpietoSimpson’s.It’snotabitthethingtogoforhere.” “Goforsomethingforme,then,”saidMargaret,pullingoffhergloves.Herspiritswererising,andhisreferencetoLeonardBasthadwarmedhercuriously. “Saddleofmutton,”saidheafterprofoundreflection“andcidertodrink.That’sthetypeofthing.Ilikethisplace,forajoke,onceinaway.Itissothorou