Poor Mrs.Jerry thought it must be a laugh of horrid bitterness, and that he was referring to his dead self or something dreadful of that sort, for which she was responsible.
"Please don't tell me," she said, in such obvious alarm that again he laughed that awful laugh.

He promised, with a profound sigh, to carry his secret unspoken to the grave, also to come to her "At Home" if she sent him a card.
He told her his address, but not his name, and she could not send the card to "Occupier." "Now tell me about yourself," said Mrs.Jerry, with charming cunning.
"Did you go away ?" "I came back a few days ago only." "Had you any shooting ?" (They nearly always threatened to make for a distant land where there was big game.) Tommy smiled.

He had never "had any shooting" except once in his boyhood, when he and Corp acted as beaters, and he had wept passionately over the first bird killed, and harangued the murderer.
"No," he replied; "I was at work all the time." This, at least, told her that his work was of a kind which could be done out of London.

An inventor?
"When are we to see the result ?" asked artful Mrs.Jerry.
"Very soon.

Everything comes out about this time.