"Thanks," I said—"thanks," and I sat down.
Charles looked at me thoughtfully. "There's something the matter," he said.
"Ah! You've noticed it too, Charles. I thought so myself."
"Have you any idea what it is?" he asked.
I looked him steadily in the face. "Charles," I began, "you are a stockbroker. You know the value of money." He groaned.
"Very well, I have a question to ask you—a simple financial question. It is this. What, in your opinion as a stockbroker, a level-headed stockbroker, is the least one can start on?"
"It all depends," he said. "Of course there's the deposit of securities, £1000, and then—"
I waved my hand. "My dear man," I said, "I'm not thinking of marrying the Stock Exchange."
Charles closed his eyes. "Good Lord," he murmured. "Poor old thing. I never thought of this. Take a cigarette—or perhaps you don't smoke now."
I took a cigarette with a fine independence. I carried it further and borrowed a match.