I sat down in this shop because I was really tired, not with
any hope of making use of my time, for I was too far away from Hilton
House to expect any luck in the way of information from the gentleman
behind the counter. However, when a man has devoted his life to
ferreting out information, the habit of ferreting is apt to be very
strong upon him; so I pass the time of day to my fancy-stationer, and
then begins to ferret. 'Madame Durski, at Hilton House yonder, is an
uncommonly handsome woman,' I throw out, by way of an opening.
'Uncommonly,' replies my fancy-stationer, by which I perceive he knows
her. 'A customer of yours, perhaps?' I throw out, promiscuous. 'Yes,'
answers my fancy-stationer. 'A good one, too, I'll be bound,' I throw
out, in a lively, conversational way. My fancy-stationer smiles, and
being accustomed to study smiles, I see significance in his smile. 'A
very good one in _some_ things,' replies my fancy-stationer, laying a
tremendous stress upon the word _some_. 'Oh,' says I, 'gilt-edged note-
paper and cream-coloured sealing-wax, for instance.' 'I don't sell her
a quire of paper in a month,' answers my stationer. 'If she was as fond
of writing letters as she is of playing cards, I think it would be
better for her.' 'Oh, she's fond of card-playing is she?' I ask. 'Yes,'
replies my fancy-stationer, 'I rather think she is.
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