clean-shaven except for a pair of sandy-coloured mutton-chop whiskers.
In expression he was gentle, even timid, and in figure short and stout.
At this very moment behind a hundred counters stand a hundred replicas
of that good-hearted man and worthy citizen, John Porson. Can he be
described better or more briefly?

"How are you Colonel?" he said, hurrying forward. He had never yet dared
to call his brother-in-law "Monk," and much less by his Christian name,
so he compromised on "Colonel."

"Pretty well, thank you, considering my years and botherations. And how
are you, John?"

"Not very grand, not very grand," said the little man; "my heart has
been troubling me, and it was so dreadfully hot in London."

"Then why didn't you come away?"

"Really I don't know. I understood that it had something to do with a
party, but I think the fact is that Mary was too lazy to look after the
servants while they packed up."

"Perhaps she had some attraction there," suggested the Colonel, with an
anxiety which might have been obvious to a more skilled observer.

"Attraction! What do you mean?" asked Porson.

"Mean, you old goose? Why, what should I mean? A young man, of course."

"Oh! I see. No, I am sure it was nothing of that sort. Mary won't be