"Hullo!" he said. "Van Adam sitting up! Bravo! Have a weed?"
He extended a mighty cigar-case. Chloe meekly rifled it, wondering what would happen next.
"Have a light?" said his Grace, striking one on his trousers like Chirgwin, the White-eyed Kaffir.
"Thanks," said Chloe.
"Not that end, my son."
"Oh, I wasn't thinking!"
"You haven't pinched the end off. That's better. What? Won't it draw?"
"No; I don't think it will. I'll—I think I'll have a cigarette, thanks."
"That's a damned good cigar."