But first there was a little dumb-show on Cedric's part; for he drew
from his breast-pocket a Russian leather cigarette-case and held it
out with a significant smile. But Malcolm waved it away.

"Avaunt, Satanus," he said with dignity. "Are you aware, my dear
fellow, that you are in a place of business--a venerable institution
sacred to the Muses--and that I have to live up to my reputation?"

"Oh, I thought you were boss of the whole concern," returned Cedric
in a discomfited tone. "You are pretty safe from visitors on such an
afternoon."

"Even if there are no clients, we have a minor prophet always on
hand," replied Malcolm.

Then Cedric laughed.

"Mealy Murphy! Oh my prophetic soul, I forgot the youthful Malachi.
I say, Herrick, I was just thinking, as you were writing just now,
how odd it seems that I have known you just two years, and you have
never been near the Wood House yet."

"It has not been for want of invitations," returned his friend with
a smile. "Don't you remember that when you first kindly asked me I
had arranged to take my mother abroad, and the next time I was going
to Scotland with a friend?"

"Oh yes, and the third time you were moving into your new diggings
in Cheyne Walk." Cedric spoke with a touch of impatience.