“Well, Mr. Yelverton! This is indeed a pleasure! I was asking the Doctor about you only the other day. I had mislaid your address. I’m so glad you’ve called.”
“The Doctor told me you were here,” I said.
“Excellent! Sit down. Have one of these Turkish cigarettes. They are real Turkish, for I brought them home with me. You can get no first-class Turkish cigarettes except in Turkey itself. As you know, the export of the best tobacco leaves is forbidden. The second quality only goes to Europe.”
I took one of the thin little rolls of golden tobacco, and lighting it pronounced it to be exquisite.
“Well, and what you have been doing since I left Mürren—carrying on in your profession, I suppose? And how about that charming little bride? Did her husband come back?”
“No,” I replied. “He has not yet returned to her.”
“What!” cried the old man, opening his eyes widely. “Not back! Then he deserted her and left her upon your hands!” he added. “A rather dangerous situation for a young man—eh?”
I smiled.
“It is a tragedy,” I said, a few moments later. “The poor broken-hearted girl is back with her mother at Bexhill.”
“And you see her sometimes, I expect.”