And just then I noticed that we were no longer standing still, but proceeding up a side street, arm-in-arm, while his disengaged hand indicated the passing scene as if it were the most gorgeous bazaar of the Orient. He spoke with extraordinary rapidity, except in uttering certain words, when he would make a slurring pause, as a singer will let a note melt into a pianissimo, then race on again with renewed vigor. It was a fascinating trick of speech, and, added to the subtle inflections of his voice, never failed to startle one into the closest attention.
I turned to him once with some remark on my lips, and noticed that his eyes were dancing with merriment.
"What is it, Pest?" he cried. "Out with it!"
I smiled gloomily; but still it was a smile.
"Why," I said, "aren't the lamps in Sloane Square bright like these?"
He didn't answer. Probably he knew the truth would have hurt.
III
What a hole to dine in on Christmas Eve! Such waiters—such guests—such food—such wine!
I believe the proprietor owned three such establishments, each, in a triumph of irony, called "Arcadia." The very linen of the waiters drooped disconsolately, and the whole place reeked of cabbage and wet umbrellas. My spirits, which had risen momentarily from their classic depths, sank like the sands of an egg-timer.
"My dear fellow," I said, "you can't mean to dine here?"