He did not keep me waiting above half an hour, but I confess that
that half hour was not pleasantly spent. I feared that his temper
would be tried in dressing, and that he would not be able to eat his
breakfast in a happy state of mind. So that when I heard his heavy
footstep advancing along the passage my heart did misgive me, and I
felt that I was trembling.

That step was certainly slower and more ponderous than usual. There
was always a certain dignity in the very sound of his movements, but
now this seemed to have been enhanced. To judge merely by the step
one would have said that a bishop was coming that way instead of a
prebendary.

And then he entered. In the upper half of his august person no
alteration was perceptible. The hair was as regular and as graceful
as ever, the handkerchief as white, the coat as immaculate; but
below his well-filled waistcoat a pair of red plush began to shine
in unmitigated splendour, and continued from thence down to within
an inch above his knee; nor, as it appeared, could any pulling
induce them to descend lower. Mr. Horne always wore black silk
stockings,--at least so the world supposed, but it was now apparent
that the world had been wrong in presuming him to be guilty of such
extravagance. Those, at any rate, which he exhibited on the present
occasion were more economical. They were silk to the calf, but
thence upwards they continued their career in white cotton. These
then followed the plush; first two snowy, full-sized pillars of
white, and then two jet columns of flossy silk. Such was the
appearance, on that well-remembered morning, of the Rev. Augustus
Horne, as he entered the room in which his breakfast was prepared.