“Sit down, Lord Robert,” he begged. “I do not remember you, it is true, but I am getting an old man. My memory sometimes plays me strange tricks.”
The young man looked at Mr. Sabin and laughed softly. Indeed, Mr. Sabin had very little the appearance of an old man. He was leaning with both hands clasped upon his stick, his face alert, his eyes bright and searching.
“You carry your years well, Mr. Sabin. Yet while we are on the subject, do you know that London is the unhealthiest city in the world?”
“I am always remarkably well here,” Mr. Sabin said drily.
“London has changed since your last visit,” Lord Robert said, with a gentle smile. “Believe me if I say—as your sincere well-wisher—that there is something in the air at present positively unwholesome to you. I am not sure that unwholesome is not too weak a word.”
“Is this official?” Mr. Sabin asked quietly.
The young man fingered the gold chain which disappeared in his trousers pocket.
“Need I introduce myself?” he asked.
“Quite unnecessary,” Mr. Sabin assured him. “Permit me to reflect for a few minutes. Your visit comes upon me as a surprise. Will you smoke? There are cigarettes at your elbow.”
“I am entirely at your service,” Lord Robert answered. “Thanks, I will try one of your cigarettes. You were always famous for your tobacco.”