He ordered dinner, and sat down in the very corner, at the very table perhaps! (things did not progress much at the Disunion, a Club of almost Radical principles) at which he and young Jolyon used to sit twenty-five years ago, when he was taking the latter to Drury Lane, during his holidays.

The boy had loved the theatre, and old Jolyon recalled how he used to sit opposite, concealing his excitement under a careful but transparent nonchalance.

He ordered himself, too, the very dinner the boy had always chosen⁠—soup, whitebait, cutlets, and a tart. Ah! if he were only opposite now!