le.

He got unsteadily to his feet. The waiter helped him on with his coat:
and he put a disreputable-looking little curly hat on his head. Then he
took his stick.

"Don't look at my appearance, my dear fellow," said Argyle. "I am frayed
at the wrists--look here!" He showed the cuffs of his overcoat, just
frayed through. "I've got a trunkful of clothes in London, if only
somebody would bring it out to me.--Ready then! _Avanti!_"

And so they passed out into the still rainy street. Argyle lived in the
very centre of the town: in the Cathedral Square. Aaron left him at his
hotel door.

"But come and see me," said Argyle. "Call for me at twelve o'clock--or
just before twelve--and let us have luncheon together. What! Is that
all right?--Yes, come just before twelve.--When?--Tomorrow? Tomorrow
morning? Will you come tomorrow?"

Aaron said he would on Monday.

"Monday, eh! You say Monday! Very well then. Don't you forget now. Don't
you forget. For I've a memory like a vice. _I_ shan't forget.--Just
before twelve then. And come right up. I'm right under the roof. In
Paradise, as the porter always says. _Siamo nel paradiso_. But he's
a _cretin_. As near Paradise as I care for, for it's devilish hot in
summer, and damned cold in winter. Don't you forget now--Monday, twelve
o'clock."

And Argyle pinched Aaron's arm fast, then went unsteadily up the steps
to his hotel door.

The next day at Algy's there was a crowd Algy had a very pleasant flat
indeed, kept more scrupulously neat and finicking than ever any woman's
flat was kept. So today, with its bowls of flowers and its pictures and
books and old furniture, and Algy, very nicely dressed, fluttering and
blinking and making really a charming host, it was all very delightful
to the little mob of visitors. They were a curious lot, it is true:
everybody rather exceptional. Which though it may be startling, is so
very much better fun than everybody all alike. Aaron talked to an old,
old Italian elegant in side-curls, who peeled off his grey gloves and
studied his formalities with a delightful Mid-Victorian dash, and told
stories about a _plaint_ which Lady Surry had against Lord Marsh, and
was quite incomprehensible. Out rolled the English words, like plums out
of a burst bag, and all completely unintelligible. But the old _beau_
was supremely satisfied. He loved talking English, and holding his
listeners spell-bound.

Next to Aaron on the sofa sat the Marchesa del Torre,