"I'm from London," she said wistfully. "I came down here for the air and I ran into my friend."
The mention of London appeared to make the old gentleman a little bolder. "Maybe I'd better tell you my name so you can introduce me when she comes along."
"It's a he," said Bessie, and then noticing the old gentleman's alarm, added, "But it's all right. We're only friends."
"Oh," said her companion. "Well, my name's Winnery—Horace J. Winnery."
"And mine's Cudlip—Bessie Cudlip."
Horace J. Winnery, she thought, was a beautiful name like Lionel Blundon, only it didn't fill her with awe. It made her feel quite at home.
The band blared into a potpourri from Faust and Mr. Blundon came into sight through the crowd. He was peering to right and to left with his near-sighted eyes. Bessie, being in a realistic mood, could not help thinking that her new acquaintance, even at his age, was more of a man.
"There's my friend now," said Bessie, and Mr. Winnery with a glance at Mr. Blundon looked relieved of some secret anxiety.
She introduced them and Mr. Winnery was very cordial, but Mr. Blundon seemed absentminded and concerned with his own thoughts. But she was proud of him and hoped that his accent had impressed Mr. Winnery. It would show him what sort she was.
"Let's go and 'ave some ale," said old Mr. Winnery, so they went and sat in the pavilion and drank together. It seemed to cheer Mr. Blundon. It
