"And they've all asked you when you landed, and how long you were staying, and what brought you to England."
"It would be rather friendly if you did the same."
"You couldn't tell me—any more than you could tell them."
"But I could. It was Sunday morning."
"About then. I knew that. You've been here long enough to get English clothes, and," he gave me another rapid look, "to have them made for you. How long you're here for—you don't know."
"Not to a day," I conceded. "Well, why did I come?"
"You don't know."
"Pardon me." I told him of my visit to Malta and the charitable guardianship of my friend's convalescent wife.
"But that wasn't the real reason."
"It was the only reason."