He told me that he was a millionaire. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere. He has got Blueskin with him. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites.
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