While I drew the arm-chair nearer the fire, he pushed forward the table with the wine to my elbow.
After this, he poured me out a glass and fell to dusting a high-backed chair with vigour, as though he had caught it standing at ease and were giving it a round dozen for insubordination in the ranks.

"Was there anything more ?" "Nothing, thank you." He withdrew.
I drank a couple of glasses and began meditatively to light my pipe.
I was trying to piece together these words "Philip Cardinnock-- Cicely Williams--_fui_," and to fit them into the tune that kept running in my head.
My pipe went out.

I pulled out my pouch and was filling it afresh when a puff of wind came down the chimney and blew a cloud of blue smoke out into the room.
The smoke curled up and spread itself over the face of the mirror confronting me.

I followed it lazily with my eyes.

Then suddenly I bent forward, staring up.