"Take one," he said, pushing a cigar-case over to me; "you will find them good. I manufactured them while you were away."
I bore good-humouredly with his banter, and I took a cigar from the case, but did not immediately light it.
"Sent your letter?" he inquired curtly.
"Yes."
"And my desk?"
"Yes."
"By Lizzie Melladew's sweetheart?"
"Yes."
"Not by the other?"
"No."