Nigel smiled.

"I believe our thoughts are moving in the same groove," he said. "To me
there seems to be a different class of people here, as though the
denizens of West Kensington, suddenly enriched, had come to spend their
money in new quarters. Not only that, but there is a difference in the
wares set out in the shops, an absence of taste, if you can understand
what I mean, as though the shopkeepers themselves understood that they
were catering for a new class of people."

"It is the triumph of your _bourgeoisie_," the Russian declared. "Your
aristocrat is no longer able to survive. _Noblesse oblige_ has no
significance to the shopman. He wants the fat cheques, and he caters for
the people who can write them. Let us pursue our reflections a little
farther and in a different direction, my friend," he added, glancing at
his watch. "Lunch with me at the Ritz, and we will see whether the
cookery, too, has been adapted to the new tastes."

Nigel hesitated for a moment, a somewhat curious hesitation which he
many times afterwards remembered.

"I am not very keen on restaurants for a week or two," he said
doubtfully. "Besides, I had half promised to be at the club."

"Not to-day," Karschoff insisted. "To-day let us listen to the call of
the world. Woman is at her loveliest in the spring. The Ritz Restaurant
will look like a bouquet of flowers. Perhaps 'One for you and one for
me.' At any rate, one is sure of an omelette one can eat."

The two men turned together towards Piccadilly.