Mallinson was doing no good--well, not much anyway--at the Bar.

He has scored by following her advice.

So if she ever had any responsibility, which I don't admit, for there was no compulsion on him to obey, his luck has already wiped it out.' 'I suppose the white-haired man's her father,' said Drake.
'Yes.

There's another sister, but she's at school in Brussels.' 'How did you come across them ?' 'Mallinson and I met them one summer when we were taking a holiday at Sark.' Drake caught the eye of a man who was passing the end of his row of stalls towards the saloon, and was beckoned out.
'I will join you after the interval,' he said, turning to Conway, and he saw that his companion was bowing to Miss Le Mesurier.
Miss Le Mesurier in her box noticed Drake's movement, and she asked Mallinson, 'Who is that speaking to Mr.Conway ?' Mallinson put up his glasses and looked.

Clarice read recognition in a lift of eyebrows, and guessed from his hesitation to answer who it was that he recognised.
'Well, who is it ?' 'Where ?' asked Mallinson, assuming an air of perplexity.
'Where you were looking,' said she quietly.
'It's Stephen Drake,' interposed Fielding, and 'Hulloa!' he added in a voice of surprise as he observed the man whom Drake joined.
'Drake! Stephen Drake!' exclaimed Mr.Le Mesurier, leaning forward hurriedly.