“Do you know where we are going to lunch today, Tuppence?”
Mrs. Beresford considered the question.
“The Ritz?” she suggested hopefully.
“Think again.”
“That nice little place in Soho?”
“No.” Tommy’s tone was full of importance. “An A.B.C. shop. This one in fact.”
He drew her deftly inside an establishment of the kind indicated, and steered her to a corner marble-topped table.
“Excellent,” said Tommy with satisfaction, as he seated himself. “Couldn’t be better.”
“Why has this craze for the simple life come upon you?” demanded Tuppence.
“ You see, Watson, but you do not observe. I wonder now whether one of these haughty damsels would condescend to notice us? Splendid, she drifts this way. It is true that she appears to be thinking of something else, but doubtless her subconscious mind is functioning busily with such matters as ham and eggs and pots of tea. Chop and fried potatoes, please, Miss, and a large coffee, a roll and butter, and a plate of tongue for the lady.”
The waitress repeated the order in a scornful tone, but Tuppence leant forward suddenly and interrupted her.