The sanctum of Mr. John Girdlestone was approached by two doors, one of
oak with ground-glass panels, and the other covered with green baize.
The room itself was small, but lofty, and the walls were ornamented by
numerous sections of ships stuck upon long flat boards, very much as the
remains of fossil fish are exhibited in museums, together with maps,
charts, photographs, and lists of sailings innumerable. Above the
fire-place was a large water-colour painting of the barque _Belinda_ as
she appeared when on a reef to the north of Cape Palmas. An inscription
beneath this work of art announced that it had been painted by the
second officer and presented by him to the head of the firm. It was
generally rumoured that the merchants had lost heavily over this
disaster, and there were some who quoted it as an instance of
Girdlestone's habitual strength of mind that he should decorate his wall
with so melancholy a souvenir. This view of the matter did not appear
to commend itself to a flippant member of Lloyd's agency, who contrived
to intimate, by a dexterous use of his left eyelid and right forefinger,
that the vessel may not have been so much under-insured, nor the loss to
the firm so enormous as was commonly reported.

John Girdlestone, as he sat at his square office-table waiting for his
son, was undeniably a remarkable-looking man. For good or for evil no
weak character lay beneath that hard angular face, with the strongly
marked features and deep-set eyes. He was clean shaven, save for an
iron-grey fringe of ragged whisker under each ear, which blended with
the grizzled hair above. So self-contained, hard-set, and immutable was
his expression that it was impossible to read anything from it except
sternness and resolution, qualities which are as likely to be associated
with the highest natures as with the most dangerous. It may have been
on account of this ambiguity of expression that the world's estimate of