"Their trains are always late," said Phipps, with his fingers along the

edge of his collar. Dangle, you must understand, was a sub-editor and

reviewer, and his pride was to be Thomas Plantagenet's intellectual

companion. Widgery, the big man, was manager of a bank and a mighty

golfer, and his conception of his relations to her never came into his

mind without those charming oldlines, "Douglas, Douglas, tender and

true," falling hard upon its heels. His name was Douglas-Douglas

Widgery. And Phipps, Phipps was a medical student still, and he felt

that he laid his heart at her feet, the heart of a man of the world.

She was kind to them all in her way, and insisted on their being

friends together, in spite of a disposition to reciprocal criticism

they displayed. Dangle thought Widgery a Philistine, appreciating but

coarsely the merits of "A Soul Untrammelled," and Widgery thought Dangle

lacked, humanity--would talk insincerely to say a clever thing. Both

Dangle and Widgery thought Phipps a bit of a cub, and Phipps thought

both Dangle and Widgery a couple of Thundering Bounders.

They would have got to Chichester in time for lunch," said Dangle, in

the train. "After, perhaps. And there's no sufficient place in the road.

So soon as we get there, Phipps must inquire at the chief hotels to see

if any one answering to her description has lunched there."

Oh, I'LL inquire," said Phipps. "Willingly. I suppose you and Widgery

will just hang about--"

164

The Wheels of Chance