His garb must have seen a
great deal of Museum service; it consisted of a jacket, something
between brown and blue, hanging in capacious shapelessness, a
waistcoat half open for lack of buttons and with one of the
pockets coming unsewn, a pair of bronze-hued trousers which had
all run to knee. Necktie he had none, and his linen made distinct
appeal to the laundress.
Marian shook hands with him.
'He went away at half-past two,' was her reply to his question.
'How annoying! I wanted particularly to see him. I have been
running about all day, and couldn't get here before. Something
important--most important. At all events, I can tell you. But I
entreat that you won't breathe a word save to your father.'
Mr Quarmby--that was his name--had taken a vacant chair and drawn
it close to Marian's. He was in a state of joyous excitement, and
talked in thick, rather pompous tones, with a pant at the end of
a sentence. To emphasise the extremely confidential nature of his
remarks, he brought his head almost in contact with the girl's,
and one of her thin, delicate hands was covered with his red,
podgy fingers.
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