He no longer addressed his companion by the name of Greenacre; his talk was marked with a rational reserve; he watched the course of their drive along the highways of South London, and showed satisfaction as they approached his own district.
The cabman was paid with careless liberality, and Lord Polperro ran up the stairs to his flat.

More strictly speaking, he ran for a few yards, when breath failed him, and it was all he could do to stagger with loud pantings up the rest of the ascent.

Arrived in his sitting-room he sank exhausted on to the nearest chair.

Gammon saw that he pointed feebly to the drink cupboard, and heard a gasp that sounded like "brandy." "Better not," replied the clear-headed man.

"I wouldn't if I were you." But his lordship insisted, looking reproachfully, and the brandy was produced.