Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. “Aren’t we all just odds and ends of humanity —the left-overs, you know. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. She gloried in it: he needed her. She was fine and tender. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible. White men never went abroad without helmets. “You may not leave. Vee’s all right. Why in heaven’s name didn’t I think of that before?’ ‘What are you talking of?’ ‘Never mind that now. I had two slices. "Mr. —Gentlemen, your most obsequious trout.
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