"I confess I'd like to know somethin' more about him."

"Where did you run across him first?"

"I didn't run across him; he ran across me, and in rather a curious way.
We live in Linden Gardens now, you know. Several of the houses there are
almost exactly alike, and about a month ago, at a dinner party we were
givin', a young man was shown in. His name was unknown to me, so I
supposed that he must be some friend of my wife's. Then I saw that he
was a stranger to her too, and then all at once he became very confused,
inquired if he were in Sir Harry Dawson's house--Sir Harry lives in the
house next to ours--and, findin' he was not, apologized profusely for
his mistake, and left hurriedly."

"Anyone might make a mistake of that kind in some London houses," the
second speaker said. "What is he like? Is he a gentleman?"

"Oh, quite."

"And for how long have you leased him your house in Cumberland Place?"

"Seven years, with option of renewal."

"And you mean to say you know nothing about him?"

"I won't say 'nothin',' but I know comparatively little about him.
Houston and Prince, the house agents, assure me they've made inquiries,
and that he is a rich young man whose uncle amassed a large fortune in
Tasmania--I didn't know fortunes were to be made in Tasmania, did you?