“Ah, Eugene!” said Lightwood, affectionately, now standing near him, so that they both stood in one little cloud of smoke; “I would that you answered my three questions! What is to come of it? What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“And my dear Mortimer,” returned Eugene, lightly fanning away the smoke with his hand for the better exposition of his frankness of face and manner, “believe me, I would answer them instantly if I could. But to enable me to do so, I must first have found out the troublesome conundrum long abandoned. Here it is. Eugene Wrayburn.” Tapping his forehead and breast. “Riddle-me, riddle-me-ree, perhaps you can’t tell me what this may be?⁠—No, upon my life I can’t. I give it up!”