Wingrave nodded.
“What have you there?” he asked, pointing to the parcel.
“Cigars and cigarettes, and jolly good ones, too,” Aynesworth answered, opening a flat tin box, and smelling the contents appreciatively. “Try one of these! The finest Turkish tobacco grown!”
“I don’t smoke,” Wingrave answered.
“Oh! You’ve got out of it, but you must pick it up again,” Aynesworth declared. “Best thing out for the nerves—sort of humanizes one, you know!”
“Humanizes one, does it?” Wingrave remarked softly. “Well, I’ll try!”
He took a cigarette from the box, curtly inviting Aynesworth to do the same.
“What about lunch?” the latter asked. “Would you care to come round with me to the Cannibal Club? Rather a Bohemian set, but there are always some good fellows there.”
“I am much obliged,” Wingrave answered. “If you will ask me again in a few days’ time, I shall be very pleased. I do not wish to leave the hotel just at present.”
“Do you want me?” Aynesworth asked.