“Come and sit here, Godfrey.”
He turned round to find himself face to face with no less a person than Victor Fensden.
“My dear old fellow, this is indeed a surprise,” he said as he shook hands. “I thought you were still in Paris. How long have you been in London?”
“I crossed this morning,” Victor replied. “I am tired of travelling and want to settle down.”
“And you have enjoyed yourself?”
“Fairly well,” Victor replied. “I have met a lot of people whom I hope never to see again, and have tasted, I should say, every example of villainous cookery in Europe. I am thinking of bringing out a new guide book, which I shall name 'The Tourist’s Vade Mecum’; or, 'Where not to go in Europe.’”
Considering that it was to Godfrey’s generosity that he owed the long holiday he had been able to take, this was scarcely a grateful speech, but the latter did not comment on it. He was too happy himself and too glad to see his friend once more to take offence. He noticed that in his dress Victor was even more artistic than before. His hair was a shade longer, his tie a trifle larger (he wore it tied in a bow with ends flying loose), and the general tone of his costume a little more pronounced.
“And the future Mrs. Henderson?” he said, airily. “How is she? As you may suppose, I am all anxiety to make her acquaintance.”
“You will do so on Saturday,” Godfrey replied, “for I presume you are coming down to me then?”
“I shall be delighted,” said Fensden. “An English country house will be soothing after the caravansaries I have been domiciled in lately. I never knew how much I detested my brother Briton until I met him in a foreign hotel.”