"One word more, about that old woman. Talk to her all you please, and let her talk—and talk more than you, so much the better; but observe, she will question you about yourself and your connections, and one word you shall not answer; observe she learns nothing from you, that is, in the spirit of your solemn promise to me."
M. Varbarriere had addressed this peremptory reminder over his shoulder, and now retouched his perpendicular cone of hair, which waved upwards like a grey flame.
"Guy, you will be late," he called over his shoulder. "Come, my boy; we must not be walking in with the entremets."
And he plucked out that huge chased repeater, a Genevan masterpiece, which somehow harmonised, with his air of wealth and massiveness, and told him he had hut eight minutes left; and with an injunction to haste, which Guy, with a start, obeyed, this sable and somewhat mountainous figure swayed solemnly from the room.
"Who is that Monsieur Varbarriere?" inquired Lady Alice of her host, as the company began to assemble in the drawing-room, before that gentleman had made his appearance.
"I have not a notion."
"Are you serious? No, you're not serious," served Lady Alice.
"I'm always serious when I talk to you."
"Thank you. I'm sure that is meant for a compliment," said the old lady, curtly.
"And I assure you I mean what I say," continued Sir Jekyl, not minding the parenthesis. "I really don't know, except that he comes from France—rather a large place, you know—where he comes from. I have not a notion what his business, calling, or trade may be."