He must be now--November, 1910--about fifty-eight or fifty-nine.

But he has still a certain elegance, the look of a lesser Leighton about him.
Frank has been there already for half an hour, and the tea-table has been, so to speak, deflowered.

Vivie accepts a cup, a muffin, and a marron glace.

Then says, "Now, dear Praddy, summon your mistress, _dons l'honnete sens du mot_, and have this tea-table cleared so that we can have a hugely long and uninterrupted talk.

I have got to give Frank a summary of all that I've done in the past thirteen years.