years. Then I met him by chance in London. Ada thinks there must have been
some sentimental trouble.'

'Dear mamma,' interposed the daughter, 'it was you, not I, who suggested
that.'

'Was it? Well, perhaps it was. One can't help seeing that he has gone
through something. Of course it may be only pity for the poor souls he
gives his life to. A wonderful man!'

When masculine voices sounded at the drawing-room door, Mrs. Loring looked
curiously for the eccentric gentleman. He entered last of all. A man of
more than middle height, but much bowed in the shoulders; thin, ungraceful,
with an irresolute step and a shy demeanour; his pale-grey eyes, very soft
in expression, looked timidly this way and that from beneath brows
nervously bent, and a self-obliterating smile wavered upon his lips. His
hair had begun to thin and to turn grey, but he had a heavy moustache,
which would better have sorted with sterner lineaments. As he walked--or
sidled--into the room, his hands kept shutting and opening, with rather
ludicrous effect. Something which was not exactly shabbiness, but a lack of
lustre, of finish, singled him among the group of men; looking closer, one
saw that his black suit belonged to a fashion some years old. His linen was
irreproachable, but he wore no sort of jewellery, one little black stud
showing on his front, and, at the cuffs, solitaires of the same simple
description.

He drifted into a corner, and there would have sat alone, seemingly at
peace, had not Mrs. Weare presently moved to a seat beside him.

'I hope you won't be staying in town through August, Mr. Tymperley?'