"Oh, Moxon be damned," said I, and, of course, I must have said it out loud, for she asked me sympathetically who Moxon was.
"He looks after me," I replied.
I think that must have almost confirmed the opinion in her that I was not quite sane; that Moxon, indeed, was my keeper, for she drew away a little till I laughed and explained.
"You're a swell, then?" she said. She said it with conviction. She said it as a question too.
"If you'll tell me what you mean by that," said I, "I'll tell you if you're right."
Whereupon for a few moments she was silent, but when I prompted her for an answer, she said,
"A swell's a swell."
"Then certainly the description doesn't apply to me," I replied, and, taking out the latchkey, I opened my door.
At first she hesitated to come in, but I took her arm. The sleeve of her dress was drenched.
"You mustn't stay outside," said I. "Just come and wait in my sitting-room while Moxon gets a 'taxi.' He won't be long."