"

"May I ask why you returned from America? I considered that the strong
wish you expressed to go there, when an adequate sum was furnished, was
tantamount to an engagement that you would remain there for life."

"Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same thing as a wish
to stay. But I did stay a matter of ten years; it didn't suit me to
stay any longer. And I'm not going again, Nick." Here Mr. Raffles
winked slowly as he looked at Mr. Bulstrode.

"Do you wish to be settled in any business? What is your calling now?"

"Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I can. I don't
care about working any more. If I did anything it would be a little
travelling in the tobacco line--or something of that sort, which takes
a man into agreeable company. But not without an independence to fall
back upon. That's what I want: I'm not so strong as I was, Nick,
though I've got more color than you. I want an independence."

"That could be supplied to you, if you would engage to keep at a
distance," said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a little too much eagerness
in his undertone.

"That must be as it suits my convenience," said Raffles coolly. "I see
no reason why I shouldn't make a few acquaintances hereabout. I'm not
ashamed of myself as company for anybody. I dropped my portmanteau at
the turnpike when I got down--change of linen--genuine--honor bright--more
than fronts and wristbands; and with this suit of mourning, straps
and everything, I should do you credit among the nobs here." Mr.
Raffles had pushed away his chair and looked down at himself,
particularly at his straps. His chief intention was to annoy
Bulstrode, but he really thought that his appearance now would produce
a good effect, and that he was not only handsome and witty, but clad in
a mourning style which implied solid connections.

"If you intend to rely on me in any way, Mr. Raffles," said Bulstrode,
after a moment's pause, "you will expect to meet my wishes."

"Ah, to be sure," said Raffles, with a mocking cordiality. "Didn't I
always do it? Lord, you made a pretty thing out of me, and I got but
little. I've often thought since, I might have done better by telling
the old woman that I'd found her daughter and her grandchild: it would
have suited my feelings better; I've got a soft place in my heart. But
you've buried the old lady by this time, I suppose--it's all one to her
now. And you've got your fortune out of that prof