"Indeed. That's right. Who was that?"

Rickie had a young man's reticence. He generally spoke of "a
friend," "a person I know," "a place I was at." When the book of
life is opening, our readings are secret, and we are unwilling to
give chapter and verse. Mr. Pembroke, who was half way through
the volume, and had skipped or forgotten the earlier pages, could
not understand Rickie's hesitation, nor why with such awkwardness
he should pronounce the harmless dissyllable "Ansell."

"Ansell? Wasn't that the pleasant fellow who asked us to lunch?"

"No. That was Anderson, who keeps below. You didn't see Ansell.
The ones who came to breakfast were Tilliard and Hornblower."

"Of course. And since then you have been with the Silts. How are
they?"

"Very well, thank you. They want to be remembered to you."

The Pembrokes had formerly lived near the Elliots, and had shown
great kindness to Rickie when his parents died. They were thus
rather in the position of family friends.

"Please remember us when you write." He added, almost roguishly,
"The Silts are kindness itself. All the same, it must be just a
little--dull, we thought, and we thought that you might like a
change. And of course we are delighted to have you besides. That
goes without saying."