“Oh, I don’t know. She belongs to a big shop; she has to be fine.”
“Won’t you have a pipe?” Mr Vetch asked, pushing an old tobacco-pouch across the table to his visitor; and while the young man helped himself he puffed a while in silence. “What will she do with you?” he inquired at last.
“What will who do with me?”
“Your big beauty—Miss Henning. I know all about her from Pinnie.”
“Then you know what she’ll do with me!” Hyacinth returned, with rather a scornful laugh.
“Yes, but, after all, it doesn’t very much matter.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Hyacinth.
“Well, now the other matter—the International—are you very deep in that?” the fiddler went on, as if he had not heard him.
“Did Pinnie tell you all about that?” his visitor asked.
“No, our friend Eustace has told me a good deal. He knows you have put your head into something. Besides, I see it,” said Mr Vetch.