“As I have little time to spare, Mr. Raffles,” said the banker, who could hardly do more than sip his tea and break his toast without eating it, “I shall be obliged if you will mention at once the ground on which you wished to meet with me.  I presume that you have a home elsewhere and will be glad to return to it.”

“Why, if a man has got any heart, doesn’t he want to see an old friend, Nick?—­I must call you Nick—­we always did call you young Nick when we knew you meant to marry the old widow.  Some said you had a handsome family likeness to old Nick, but that was your mother’s fault, calling you Nicholas.  Aren’t you glad to see me again?  I expected an invite to stay with you at some pretty place.  My own establishment is broken up now my wife’s dead.  I’ve no particular attachment to any spot; I would as soon settle hereabout as anywhere.”

“May I ask why you returned from America?  I considered that the strong wish you expressed to go there, when an adequate sum was furnished, was tantamount to an engagement that you would remain there for life.”

“Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same thing as a wish to stay.  But I did stay a matter of ten years; it didn’t suit me to stay any longer.  And I’m not going again, Nick.”  Here Mr. Raffles winked slowly as he looked at Mr. Bulstrode.

“Do you wish to be settled in any business?  What is your calling now?”

“Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I can.  I don’t care about working any more.  If I did anything it would be a little travelling in the tobacco line—­or something of that sort, which takes a man into agreeable company.  But not without an independence to fall back upon.  That’s what I want:  I’m not so strong as I was, Nick, though I’ve got more color than you.  I want an independence.”

“That could be supplied to you, if you would engage to keep at a distance,” said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a little too much eagerness in his undertone.

“That must be as it suits my convenience,” said Raffles coolly.  “I see no reason why I shouldn’t make a few acquaintances hereabout.  I’m not ashamed of myself as company for anybody.  I dropped my portmanteau at the turnpike when I got down—­change of linen—­genuine—­honor bright—­ more than fronts and wristbands; and with this suit of mourning, straps and everything, I should do you credit among the nobs here.”  Mr. Raffles had pushed away his chair and looked down at himself, particularly at his straps.  His chief intention was to annoy Bulstrode, but he really thought that his appearance now would produce a good effect, and that he was not only handsome and witty, but clad in a mourning style which implied solid connections.

“If you intend to rely on me in any way, Mr. Raffles,” said Bulstrode, after a moment’s pause, “you will expect to meet my wishes.”