The wrong brand of champagne means a sleepless night." Tavernake looked at him in a puzzled way.

The professor was a riddle to him.

He represented no type which had come within the orbit of his experience.

With the arrival of the champagne, the professor became almost eloquent.

He leaned forward, gazing stealthily down at the round table.
"If I could tell you of that girl's mother, Mr.Tavernake," he said, "if I could tell you what her history, our history, has been, it would seem to you so strange that you would probably regard me as a romancer.