amusement (everything in England was "of course" to Philip). "You
pay according to the sort of accommodation you require, the number
of your rooms, and the nature of the neighbourhood."

"I see," the Alien replied, imperturbably polite, in spite of
Philip's condescending manner. "And what do I pay per room in this
latitude and longitude?"

For twenty seconds, Philip half suspected his new acquaintance of a
desire to chaff him: but as at the same time the Alien drew from
his pocket a sort of combined compass and chronometer which he
gravely consulted for his geographical bearings, Philip came to the
conclusion he must be either a seafaring man or an escaped lunatic.
So he answered him to the point. "I should think," he said quietly,
"as Miss Blake's are extremely respectable lodgings, in a first-
rate quarter, and with a splendid view, you'll probably have to pay
somewhere about three guineas."

"Three what?" the stranger interposed, with an inquiring glance at
the little heap of coins he still held before him.

Philip misinterpreted his glance. "Perhaps that's too much for
you," he suggested, looking severe; for if people cannot afford to
pay for decent rooms, they have no right to invade an aristocratic
suburb, and bespeak the attention of its regular residents.

"Oh, that's not it," the Alien put in, reading his tone aright.
"The money doesn't matter to me. As long as I can get a tidy room,
with sun and air, I don't mind what I pay. It's the guinea I can't
quite remember about for the moment. I looked it up, I know, in a