The result was that, a week after, Casti received an invitation to
call on Waymark, at the latter's lodgings in Walcot Square,
Kennington. He arrived on a Saturday evening, just after eight
o'clock. The house he sought proved to be one of very modest
appearance; small, apparently not too clean, generally uninviting.
But a decent-looking woman opened the door, and said that Mr.
Waymark would be found in response to a knock at the first-floor
front. The visitor made his way up the dark, narrow stair-case, and
knocked as bidden. A firm voice summoned him to enter.

From a seat by a table which was placed as near as possible to a
very large fire rose a young man whose age might have been either
twenty-three or twenty-six. Most people would have inclined to give
him the latter figure. He was rather above the average stature, and
showed well-hung limbs, with a habit of holding himself which
suggested considerable toughness of sinews; he moved gracefully, and
with head well held up. His attire spoke sedentary habits; would
have been decidedly shabby, but for its evident adaptation to
easy-chair and fireside. The pure linen and general tone of
cleanliness were reassuring; the hand, too, which he extended, was
soft, delicate, and finely formed. The head was striking, strongly
individual, set solidly on a rather long and shapely neck; a fine
forehead, irregular nose, rather prominent jaw-bones, lips just a
little sensual, but speaking good-humour and intellectual character.
A heavy moustache; no beard. Eyes dark, keen, very capable of
tenderness, but perhaps more often shrewdly discerning or cynically
speculative. One felt that the present expression of genial
friendliness was unfamiliar to the face, though it by no means
failed in pleasantness. The lips had the look of being frequently