‘Indeed!’
‘Fact, my dear. Why, though we’re such capital friends, he has seldom come even to see my plays.’
‘Do you know his sister?’
‘Who told you he had a sister?’ asked White, slyly.
‘He did.’
‘Indeed. Well, the fact is, I don’t know her. She’s a sort of amiable Ogre; pious, you know, and all that sort of thing. Whenever I have dined at the house, she has been invisible; but we’ve generally met at his club.’
‘And his little boy?’
‘Eh? Who told you he had a little boy? The same informant. Why, he’s been giving you his autobiography!’
‘He only told me he was a widower.’
‘And that’s more than he ever told to me, though of course I was aware of it. You see, our friendship has been a sort of club friendship, and, besides, all the favour has been on his side. A rich man like Forster and a poor devil like myself can’t meet on equal terms.’