[Cigarette lighters were not unknown to Harry, but pocket-sized ones were only just beginning to be invented in his day, and the most common ones he knew of were objets d'art for the tableside; the Bristol had one made to look like a fire-breathing silver dragon. So Dorian's little device causes him considerably less pause than the news that Dorian is from his future.]

[Where another man might have spluttered or exclaimed, however, Harry merely sits quite still, smoking his cigarette with no more discomposure than if he'd been told some mildly interesting piece of gossip. He is quite sure that Dorian is not lying; he can think of no reason why the boy would, for one thing, and furthermore it accounts for certain alterations in his demeanour, to say nothing of his clothing. How entirely fascinating! He exhales a thin stream of blue-tinted smoke, and smiles.]

Then perhaps you can tell me how far out of pocket Victoria's unfortunate divorce suit will leave me. And yes, when last I saw you, it was at Selby, with Monmouth and his pretty little wife and all the rest. A charming episode, at least until it got spoilt by that dreadful accident.