He shook hands
gravely when Lewis introduced George, but his eyes immediately returned
to the former's face.
"You look a fit pair," he said. "I am instructed to give you all the
help in my power, but I should like to know your game. It isn't sport
this time, is it, Haystoun? Logan is still talking about his week with
you. Well, well, we can do things at our leisure. I have letters to
write, and then it will be dinner-time, when we can talk. Come to the
club at eight, 'Cercle des Voyageurs,' corner of Rue Neuve de St.
Michel. I expect you belong, Haystoun; and anyway I'll be there."
He bowed them out with his staccato apologies, and the two returned to
their hotel to dress. Two hours later they found Gribton warming his
hands in the smoking-room of the Cercle, a fussy and garrulous
gentleman, eager for his dinner. He pointed out such people as he knew,
and was consumed with curiosity about the others. Lewis wandered about
the room before he sat down, shaking hands with several and nodding to
many.
"You seem to know the whole earth," said Gribton.
"I suppose that a world of acquaintance is the only reward of
slackness," Lewis said, laughing. "It's a trick I have. I never forget
a face and I honestly like to see people again."
George pulled his long moustache. "It's simply hideous the way one is
forgotten. It's all right for the busy people, for they shift their
sets with their fortune, but for drones like me it's the saddest thing
in life.
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