“I crossed this morning,” Victor replied. “I am tired of travelling and want to settle down.” “And you have enjoyed yourself?” “Fairly well,” Victor replied. “I have met a lot of people whom I hope never to see again, and have tasted, I should say, every example of villainous cookery in Europe. I am thinking of bringing out a new guide book, which I shall name ‘The Tourist’s Vade Mecum’; or, ‘Where _not_ to go in Europe.’” Considering that it was to Godfrey’s generosity that he owed the long holiday he had been able to take, this was scarcely a grateful speech, but the latter did not comment on it. He was too happy himself and too glad to see his friend once more to take offence. He noticed that in his dress Victor was even more artistic than before. His hair was a shade longer, his tie a trifle larger (he wore it tied in a bow with ends flying loose), and the general tone of his costume a little more pronounced. “And the future Mrs. Henderson?” he said, airily. “How is she? As you may suppose, I am all anxiety to make her acquaintance.” “You will do so on Saturday,” Godfrey replied, “for I presume you are coming down to me then?” “I shall be delighted,” said Fensden. “An English country house will be soothing after the caravansaries I have been domiciled in lately. I never knew how much I detested my brother Briton until I met him in a foreign hotel.” The sneer on his face as he said this was not pretty to watch. “And now that you are at home once more, I presume you will resume your old habit of searching the slums for foreign eating houses?” said Godfrey, with a laugh. “Do you remember how and where we met Teresina?” “Perfectly,” Victor replied shortly, and then changed the conversation by inquiring how long Godfrey intended remaining in town. “I go back to-morrow morning,” was the other’s reply. “And now that I come to think of it, why shouldn’t you come down with me? It would be just the thing for you. We shall be very pleased to see you if you care to come.” “Impossible,” the other answered. “I have such a lot to do. I could not possibly manage it before Saturday.” “Let it be Saturday then,” said Godfrey, with an imperturbable good humour that contrasted very strongly with the other’s peevishness. “There’s a first-rate train which gets you down in time for afternoon tea. I’ll meet you at the station.” When Godfrey had finished his lunch he paid a visit to his saddler and his bootmaker, and then to fill in the time, inspected the stables of a well-known horse-dealer. He would have liked to go round to Eaton Square where Molly and her mother were staying with an old maiden aunt, but he thought better of it, and contented himself by strolling down Bond Street on the off-chance that he might meet them. He was not successful, however, so he returned to his hotel to dress and dine.