“Also, I had a friend⁠—a friend who for many years never left my side. Occasionally of an imbecility to make one afraid, nevertheless he was very dear to me. Figure to yourself that I miss even his stupidity. His naivete, his honest outlook, the pleasure of delighting and surprising him by my superior gifts⁠—all these I miss more than I can tell you.”

“He died?” I asked sympathetically.

“Not so. He lives and flourishes⁠—but on the other side of the world. He is now in the Argentine.”

“In the Argentine,” I said enviously. I have always wanted to go to South America. I sighed, and then looked up to find Mr. Porrott eyeing me sympathetically. He seemed an understanding little man.

“Will you go there, yes?” he asked.