"You see," said my uncle in a slow confidential whisper, with eyes
very wide and a creased forehead, "it's nice because of the" (here he
mentioned a flavouring matter and an aromatic spirit), "it's stimulating
because of" (here he mentioned two very vivid tonics, one with a
marked action on the kidney.) "And the" (here he mentioned two other
ingredients) "makes it pretty intoxicating. Cocks their tails. Then
there's" (but I touch on the essential secret.) "And there you are. I
got it out of an old book of recipes--all except the" (here he mentioned
the more virulent substance, the one that assails the kidneys), "which
is my idea! Modern touch! There you are!"

He reverted to the direction of our lunch.

Presently he was leading the way to the lounge--sumptuous piece in red
morocco and yellow glazed crockery, with incredible vistas of settees
and sofas and things, and there I found myself grouped with him in two
excessively upholstered chairs with an earthenware Moorish table between
us bearing coffee and Benedictine, and I was tasting the delights of a
tenpenny cigar. My uncle smoked a similar cigar in an habituated manner,
and he looked energetic and knowing and luxurious and most unexpectedly
a little bounder, round the end of it. It was just a trivial flaw
upon our swagger, perhaps that we both were clear our cigars had to be
"mild." He got obliquely across the spaces of his great armchair so as
to incline confidentially to my ear, he curled up his little legs, and
I, in my longer way, adopted a corresponding receptive obliquity. I felt
that we should strike an unbiased observer as a couple of very deep and
wily and developing and repulsive persons.

"I want to let you into this"--puff--"George," said my uncle round the
end of his cigar. "For many reasons."