Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. Practically. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. Walpole's order to that effect—but not before. ‘Dare I guess at the reason for your sudden interest in émigrés, Gerald?’ ‘Lucilla,’ barked Hilary warningly. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why.
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