And, strain their ears as they might, the Tressilvains in their perplexity and increasing impatience could make out nothing of all this voluntary information--understand nothing--pick out not one single fact to satisfy their desperately hungry curiosity.
There was no use interrupting him with questions; he answered them with others; he whispered ambiguities in a manner most portentous; hinted at bewildering paradoxes with an air; nodded mysterious nothings, and finally left them gaping at him, exasperated, unable to make any sense out of what most astonishingly resembled a candid revelation of the hopes, fears, ambitions, and worldly circumstances of Louis Malcourt.
"Good-night," he said, lingering at the door to look upon and enjoy the fruit of his perversity and malice.

"When I start on that journey I mentioned to you I'll leave something for you and Herby--merely to show you how much I think of my own people--a little gift--a trifle! No--no!"-- lifting his hand with smiling depreciation as Tressilvain began to thank him.

"One must look out for one's own family.

It's natural--only natural to make some provision.

Good-night, Helen! Good-night, Herby.