Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, assembled after dinner in the
drawing-room, discussed the stranger with that freedom and frankness
characteristic of Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, towards the absent.

"Not what I call a smart young man," was the opinion of Augustus
Longcord, who was something in the City.

"Thpeaking for mythelf," commented his partner Isidore, "hav'n'th
any uthe for the thmart young man. Too many of him, ath it ith."

"Must be pretty smart if he's one too many for you," laughed his
partner.

There was this to be said for the repartee of Forty-eight Bloomsbury
Square: it was simple of construction and easy of comprehension.

"Well it made me feel good just looking at him," declared Miss Kite,
the highly coloured. "It was his clothes, I suppose--made me think of
Noah and the ark--all that sort of thing."

"It would be clothes that would make you think--if anything," drawled
the languid Miss Devine. She was a tall, handsome girl, engaged at
the moment in futile efforts to recline with elegance and comfort
combined upon a horsehair sofa. Miss Kite, by reason of having
secured the only easy-chair, was unpopular that evening; so that Miss
Devine's remark received from the rest of the company more approbation
than perhaps it merited.

"Is that intended to be clever, dear, or only rude?" Miss Kite
requested to be informed.