The two men who had been discussing him passed out of the room presently one of them glanced backwards in his direction.
"After all, I suppose," he observed, as he passed down the hall, "there is something great about wealth or else one wouldn't believe that old Anselman there was thinking of his money-bags.

Why, here's Granet.

Good fellow! I'd no idea you'd joined this august company of old fogies." Granet smiled as he shook hands.
"I haven't," he explained.

"You have to be a millionaire, don't you, and a great political bug, before they'd let you in?
No place for poor soldiers! I have to be content with the Rag." "Poor devil!" his friend remarked sympathetically,--"best cooking, best wines in London.

These Service men look after themselves all right.