They ate in silence, and shared the remains of the bottle.

The man idly wondered what was the _plat du jour_ at the Savoy that evening.

He remembered that the last time he was there he had called for _Jambon de York aux epinards_ and half a pint of Heidseck.
"_Coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currant_," he thought.
By a queer trick of memory he could recall the very page in Horace where this philosophical line occurs.

It was in the eleventh epistle of the first book.

A smile illumined his tired face.
Iris was watchful.