unapproachable by strangers."

As she said "your accounts and so forth," she looked at the table
from which Mr. Aylett had arisen to set a chair for her. There was a
pile of account-books at the side against the wall, but they were
shut, and over heaped by pamphlets and newspapers; while before the
owner's seat lay an open portfolio, an unfinished letter within it.
Winston wiped his pen with deliberation, closed the portfolio,
snapped to the spring-top of his inkstand, and finally wheeled his
office chair away from the desk to face his visitor.

"Is it upon business that you wish to speak to me?"

He always disdained circumlocution, prided himself upon the
directness and simplicity of his address. This acted now as a
dissuasive to the sentimental address Mrs. Sutton had meditated as a
means of winning the flinty walls behind which his social affections
and sympathies were supposed to be intrenched. Had her mission been
in behalf of any other cause, she would have drawn off her forces
upon some pretext, and effected an ignominious retreat. Nerved by
the thought of Mabel's bashfulness and solicitude, and Frederic's
strangerhood, she stood to her guns.

Winston heard her story, from the not very coherent preamble, to the
warm and unqualified endorsement of Frederic Chilton's credentials,
and her moved mention of the mutual attachment of the youthful pair,
and never changed his attitude, or manifested any inclination to
stay the narration by question or comment. When she ceased speaking,
his physiognomy denoted no emotion whatever. Yet, Mabel was his
nearest living relative. She had been bequeathed to his care, when