gns
and appetizing smells of the larger meal being imminent as I passed
through the hotel. Now just lie down until you want to dress--if you
like, I'll help you dress" (swallowing hard to choke down a little
shudder of repulsion). "I'm not in any hurry. I've come to Brussels
to go into matters thoroughly. For the present, I am staying at the
Hotel Grimaud."

Mrs. Warren was convulsively sobbing and ruining the complexion she
had just made up, before she changed out of her _descente de lit_:
"Why not stop here, dearie? Don't laugh! There's _lots_ that do and
never suspect for one minute it ain't like any other hotel; though
from all I see and hear, _all_ hotels are pretty much the same
now-a-days, whether they're called by my name or not. Of course a
man might find out pretty quick, but not a woman who wasn't in the
business herself. Why we actually _encourage_ decent women to come
here when we ain't pressed for room. They give the place a better
tone, don't you know. There's two clergyman's sisters come here most
autumns and stop and stop and don't notice anything. They come in
here and chat with me, and once they said they liked foreign
gentlemen better than their own fellow-countrymen: 'their manners
are so _affable_.' Why it was partly through people like that, that
I got to hear every now and then what _you_ was up to. Oh, I wasn't
taken in long by that David Williams business. Praddy didn't give
you away--to speak of, when I sent you that thousand pounds--Lord, I
was glad you kept it! But what fixed me was your portrait in the
_Daily Mirror_ a couple of years ago as 'the Brilliant young
Advocate, Mr. David Vavasour Williams.' Somehow the 'Vavasour'
seemed to fit in all right, though what you wanted with
my--ahem--maiden name, with what was pore mother's _reel_ name,
before she lived with your grandfather--Well as I say, I soon saw
through the whole bag o' tricks--But _what_ a lark! Beat anythink
_I_ ever did. What have you done with your duds? Gone back to bein'
Vivie once more?--"

_Vivie_: "I'll tell you all about it in good time. But I would
rather not stay here all the same. I've found a quiet hotel near the
station. I will come and see you if you can make it easy for me; but
what I should very much prefer, if you can only get away from this
horrid place, is that you should come and see _me_. Why shouldn't
you give yourself a fortnight's holiday and go off with me to
Louvain ... or to Spa ... or some other