"Yours sincerely,
"ARRANMORE."
He read the letter through thoughtfully and folded it up.
"I really don't see what the young fool can kick about in that," he
said, throwing it into the basket. "Well, Hennibul, how are you?"
Mr. Hennibul, duly ushered in by a sedate butler, pronounced himself
both in words and appearance fit and well. He took a chair and a
cigarette, and looked about him approvingly.
"Nice house, yours, Arranmore. Nice old-fashioned situation, too. Why
don't you entertain?"
"No friends, no inclination, no womankind!"
Mr. Hennibul smiled incredulously.
"Your card plate is chock-full," he said, "and there are a dozen women
in town at least of your connections who'd do the polite things by you.
As to inclination--well, one must do something."
"That's about the most sensible thing you have said, Hennibul,"
Arranmore remarked. "I've just evoked the same fact out of my own
consciousness. One must do something. It's tiresome, but it's quite
true." Politics?
"Hate 'em! Not worth while anyway."
"Travel."
"Done all I want for a bit, but I keep that in reserve.
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