He sent me your Jenkins sketch.

I read it--it struck a very nice note.

And so--." He sat himself down on a preposterously low chair, his knees on a level with his chin.

I muttered that I feared he would find the process a bore.
"Not more for me than for you," he answered, seriously--"one has to do these things." "Why, yes," I echoed, "one has to do these things." It struck me that he regretted it--regretted it intensely; that he attached a bitter meaning to the words.
"And ...

what is the procedure ?" he asked, after a pause.