"I am new to the sort of thing." He had the air, I thought, of talking to some respectable tradesman that one calls in only when one is _in extremis_--to a distinguished pawnbroker, a man quite at the top of a tree of inferior timber.
"Oh, for the matter of that, so am I," I answered.

"I'm supposed to get your atmosphere, as Callan put it." "Indeed," he answered, absently, and then, after a pause, "You know Callan ?" I was afraid I should fall in his estimation.
"One has to do these things," I said; "I've just been getting his atmosphere." He looked again at the letter in his hand, smoothed his necktie and was silent.

I realised that I was in the way, but I was still so disturbed that I forgot how to phrase an excuse for a momentary absence.
"Perhaps, ..." I began.
He looked at me attentively.
"I mean, I think I'm in the way," I blurted out.
"Well," he answered, "it's quite a small matter.

But, if you are to get my atmosphere, we may as well begin out of doors." He hesitated, pleased with his witticism; "Unless you're tired," he added.
"I will go and get ready," I said, as if I were a lady with bonnet-strings to tie.

I was conducted to my room, where I kicked my heels for a decent interval.