This remark, translated literally into the crudest French, sounded very funny, and the lady at the comptoir could not help laughing.
“Il est impayable,” she murmured.
Cronshaw, hearing her, turned a sheepish eye upon her; she was stout, matronly, and middle-aged; and solemnly kissed his hand to her. She shrugged her shoulders.
“Fear not, madam,” he said heavily. “I have passed the age when I am tempted by forty-five and gratitude.”
He poured himself out some whiskey and water, and slowly drank it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.