For eleven years I've never paid a bill or engaged a servant for myself.

She's done everything.
Every morning she used to give me my pocket-money for the day.' 'The remedy, after all, is simple,' said Watson, with a sudden turn of the head.
Fenwick raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
'I imagine that what Mrs.Gibbs did well, "Mrs.Fenwick" might do even better--_n'est-ce pas ?_' Fenwick sprang up.
'Mrs.-- ?' he repeated, vaguely.
He stood a moment bending over Watson--his eyes staring, his mouth open.

Then he controlled himself.
'You talk as though she were round the corner,' he said, turning away and buttoning his coat afresh.

'But please understand, my dear fellow, that she is not round the corner, nor likely to be.' He spoke with a hard emphasis, smiling, and slapping the breast of his coat.
Watson looked at him and said no more.
Fenwick walked rapidly along the Quai Voltaire, crossed the Pont Neuf, and found himself inside the enclosure of the Louvre.

Twenty minutes to four.