“... right under the fall, and as secret as you could wish. You can see through, like as if you were behind a window and the rain coming down in sheets outside, and there’s no more sound to be heard than with that. It’s just shut away from there, the noise I mean, and all you can hear is a drone like a hive, and all you can see is the trees and the hills pulled crooked, like we saw ourselves in that looking-glass in the confectionier’s at Swanage don’t you remember how we laughed George? There is a fellow here Antonio Geoletti that acts as our guide and cetera and that would give his ears I expect to know of it for the sake of tips. But I’ve a fancy to keep it to myself such fun, and not tell anyone of it unless perhaps you-know-who, and perhaps if he’s good my tutor _mister_ Cecil Mansel Delane oh lawk!--but wait a minute. Geoletti’s a great rascal but I like him--always a little attracted to rogues you know George, and he shall hear of it too before we go. But now I’ve got something to tell you only don’t blab to the Governor. George, my boy, I’ve found out that Delane isn’t my tutor’s name at all, but Dalston is--Mark Dalston. There was a young fellow Bruno Travers passed through here, and recognised him for a master he’d been under at some Grammar School or other Clapham I think it was, and he called him to his face and Delane had to own up. There was only us three together, and my tutor admitted that his name was Dalston right enough, and that he’d only taken up the other for its seeming more marketable to a man with his ambitions, sounded good familyish and all that, and he asked us not to give him away and we promised. But Travers didn’t believe a word of his reason, and told me so in private. He said he’d go nap that it was to escape the consequences of an intrigue with some girl in Clapham, this Mark Dalston being a pretty rapid lot, and known for it to some of the young gentlemen that he coached. I don’t know, but I’ve had my suspicions, especially in his making those eyes at you-know-who for her looks and the rest. But mum’s the word. I shall want all my nerve when the time comes for an explanation and it can’t be long now, oh lawky lawky!--Your affectionate friend, Charles Skene.”