Wasn't there a kind of inner, very FAR in, circle, and wouldn't they be
somewhere about the centre of that? George Flack almost quivered at this
weird hit as from one of the blind, for he guessed on the spot that
Delia Dosson had, as he would have said, got there.

"Why, do you mean one of those families that have worked down so far you
can't find where they went in?"--that was the phrase in which he
recognised the truth of the girl's grope. Delia's fixed eyes assented,
and after a moment of cogitation George Flack broke out: "That's the
kind of family we want to handle!"

"Well, perhaps they won't want to be handled," Delia had returned with a
still wilder and more remarkable play of inspiration. "You had better
find out," she had added.

The chance to find out might have seemed to present itself after Mr.
Probert had walked in that confiding way into the hotel; for his arrival
had been followed a quarter of an hour later by that of the
representative of the Reverberator. Gaston had liked the way they
treated him--though demonstrative it was not artificial. Mr. Dosson had
said they had been hoping he would come round again, and Delia had
remarked that she supposed he had had quite a journey--Paris was so big;
and had urged his acceptance of a glass of wine or a cup of tea.
Mentioning that that wasn't the place where they usually received--she
liked to hear herself talk of "receiving"--she led the party up to her
white-and-gold saloon, where they should be so much more private: she
liked also to hear herself talk of privacy. They sat on the red silk
chairs and she hoped Mr. Probert would at least taste a sugared chestnut
or a chocolate; and when he declined, pleading the imminence of the
dinner-hour, she sighed: "Well, I suppose you're so used to them--to the