"That's right," said his host encouragingly. "Make yourself
comfortable. Greenacre may drop in at any moment. You can't think
how much better I feel, Gammon. So clear in the mind, you know--why,
it has only just occurred to me, this is New Year's Eve."
"So it is. Here's to your health and happiness, Lord Polperro!"
"Thank you, my dear Gammon. I heartily wish you the same. To-morrow,
or at all events in a few days, a new life begins for me, as you
know. In the climate of the south of Europe, with my wife and the
little girl--ah, but for this idiotic title!--I was saying--"
He began to wander unintelligibly, then complained of physical
sufferings, then coughed until he sank in exhaustion.
Time went on. Gammon began to ask himself how long he should wait.
At half-past ten he made a suggestion that his lordship might do
worse than go to bed, but this was ill received.
"By no means. Greenacre may be here at any moment. He will certainly
come to-night. If he doesn't come, do you know what occurs to me?
Why shouldn't we drive into the City and ask whether he has
returned?"
"Ask where?"
"He lives at a place--a sort of hotel--which he calls the Bilboes.
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