smile was on his face, and his eyes met those of the clerk with a
sprightly look. (I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked
about bad men not looking you in the face. Don't trust that
conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of
countenance, any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by
it.)

I saw, in the corner of his eyelash, that he became aware of my
looking at him. Immediately he turned the parting in his hair
toward the glass partition, as if he said to me with a sweet smile,
'Straight up here, if you please. Off the grass!'

In a few moments he had put on his hat and taken up his umbrella,
and was gone.

I beckoned the clerk into my room, and asked, 'Who was that?'

He had the gentleman's card in his hand. 'Mr. Julius Slinkton,
Middle Temple.'

'A barrister, Mr. Adams?'

'I think not, sir.'

'I should have thought him a clergyman, but for his having no
Reverend here,' said I.

'Probably, from his appearance,' Mr. Adams replied, 'he is reading
for orders.'