To-day your tie is wine-coloured and your socks are green----" "Good Lord," he cried, "so they are! I dressed myself anyhow this morning." "What's wrong with you ?" He threw his cigarette impatiently into the fire.
"Every infernal thing that can possibly be.

Everything's rotten--but I've not come here to talk about myself." "Why not ?" "It isn't the game.

I'm here on your business, which is ever so much more important than mine.

Where are this morning's letters ?" I pointed to an unopened heap on a writing-table at the end of the room.
He crossed and sat down before them.

Presently he turned sharply.
"You haven't looked through the envelopes.