THEY ARRIVE 55

that this was not a man to be ordered out of the office
by him.

"Not much of a place this, I must say," Mr. Golspie
observed, looking about him, then addressing Turgis.
"But they keep you pretty busy, eh?"

"Well, they do and they don't," Turgis mumbled. "I
mean to say, sometimes we're busy and sometimes we're
not. It all depends, you see."

"I don't see, but I'll take your word for it. Must be
a dark hole, this, a bit later on, when you get the fogs.
Too dark for my taste. Not enough air either. I like
plenty of air, though God knows it's not worth having
when you get it, in this neighbourhood. What do they
call this street? Angel Pavement, isn't it? That's a dam*
queer name for a street, though I've known queerer
names in my time. How did it get it, d'you know?"

Turgis admitted that he didn't.

"Didn't suppose you would," the stranger told him.
"Perhaps this young lady knows. They know every-
thing nowadays."

Miss Matfield looked up. "No, I don't know," she
replied, with a hint of distaste in her tone. Then she
bent her eyes to her work again. "And I don't care."

"No, you don't care," said Mr. Golspie, bluff, hearty,
and completely unabashed. "I don't suppose you care
tuppence about the whole concern. Why should you,
anyhow? I wouldn't, if I were a good-looking girl, not
tuppence."

Miss Matfield looked up again, this time wearily,
wrinkling various parts of her face. Then she brought
to bear upon this intruder the full force of her con-
temptuous gaze, which would instantly have routed
Turgis, Mr. Smeeth, or Mr. Dersingham, and a great