His tall, bulky, black-clothed figure loomed almost threatening, though preserving still the supernatural neatness of the racing man.

With a faint grin on his fleshy face, he said: "Hallo, Soames! Have a muffin ?" "No, thanks," murmured Soames; and, nursing his hat, with the desire to say something suitable and sympathetic, added: "How's your mother ?" "Thanks," said George; "so-so.

Haven't seen you for ages.

You never go racing.

How's the City ?" Soames, scenting the approach of a jest, closed up, and answered: "I wanted to ask you about Dartie.