“Oh, come now,” Grimshaw said. “I know it’s in human nature to dislike the idea of being talked about. It used to give me the creeps to think that all around me in the thousands and thousands of people that one knows, every one of them probably says something of me. But, after all, it all averages out. Some say good, no doubt, and some dislike me, and say it. I don’t suppose I can go out of my door without the baker at the corner knowing it. I am spied upon by all the policemen in the streets round about. No doubt half the shop-assistants in Bond Street snigger at the fact that I help two or three women to choose their dresses and their bracelets, and sometimes pay their bills, but what does it all amount to?” “Hell,” Dudley Leicester said--“sheer hell!” “Oh, well, eat your breakfast,” Grimshaw replied. “You can’t change it. You’ll get used to it in time. Or if you don’t get used to it in time, I’ll tell you what to do. I’ll tell you what I do. People have got to talk about you. If they don’t know things they’ll invent lies. Tell ’em the truth. The truth is never very bad. There’s my man Jervis. I’ve said to him: ‘You can open all my letters; you can examine my pass-book at the bank; you can pay my bills; you’re at liberty to read my diary of engagements; you can make what use you like of the information. If I tried to stop you doing these things, I know I should never succeed, because you chaps are always on the watch, and we’re bound to nod at times. Only I should advise you, Jervis,’ I said, ‘to stick to truth in what you say about me. It don’t matter a tinker’s curse to me what you do say, but you’ll get a greater reputation for reliability if what you say always proves true.’ So there I am. Of course it’s an advantage to have no vices in particular, and to have committed no crimes. But I don’t think it would make much difference to me, and it adds immensely to the agreeableness of life not to want to conceal things. You can’t conceal things. It’s a perpetual strain. Do what you want, and take what you get for doing it. It’s the only way to live. If you tell the truth people may invent a bit, but they won’t invent so much. When you were married, I told Hartley Jenx that if you hadn’t married Pauline, I should have. Everybody’s pretty well acquainted with that fact. If I’d tried to conceal it, people would have been talking about my coming here three times a week. As it is, it is open as the day. Nobody talks. I know they don’t. Jervis would have told me. He’d be sure to know.” “What’s all that got to do with it?” Dudley Leicester said with a suspicious exasperation. Robert Grimshaw picked up on to his arm Peter the dachshund, that all the while had remained immobile, save for an occasional blinking of the eyelids, between his feet. Holding the dog over his arm, he said: