CHAPTER X.
WHEAL MARY JANE Mr.Manylodes was, at any rate, right in this, that that beverage, which men call bishop, is a doctored tipple; and Alaric Tudor, when he woke in the morning, owned the truth.

It had been arranged that certain denizens of the mine should meet the two Commissioners at the pit-mouth at eight o'clock, and it had been settled at dinner-time that breakfast should be on the table at seven, sharp.

Half an hour's quick driving would take them to the spot.
At seven Mr.Fidus Neverbend, who had never yet been known to be untrue to an appointment by the fraction of a second, was standing over the breakfast-table alone.

He was alone, but not on that account unhappy.

He could hardly disguise the pleasure with which he asked the waiter whether Mr.Tudor was yet dressed, or the triumph which he felt when he heard that his colleague was not _quite ready_.
'Bring the tea and the eggs at once,' said Neverbend, very briskly.
'Won't you wait for Mr.Tudor ?' asked the waiter, with an air of surprise.