impassivity of feature. It struck me that he might look natural
on a stage, but was strangely out of place in real life. His
voice was rather deep and unctuous. He placed a wooden hand in
mine and said:

"This is a pleasure, Mr. Hastings." Then, turning to his wife:
"Emily dearest, I think that cushion is a little damp."

She beamed fondly on him, as he substituted another with every
demonstration of the tenderest care. Strange infatuation of an
otherwise sensible woman!

With the presence of Mr. Inglethorp, a sense of constraint and
veiled hostility seemed to settle down upon the company. Miss
Howard, in particular, took no pains to conceal her feelings.
Mrs. Inglethorp, however, seemed to notice nothing unusual. Her
volubility, which I remembered of old, had lost nothing in the
intervening years, and she poured out a steady flood of
conversation, mainly on the subject of the forthcoming bazaar
which she was organizing and which was to take place shortly.
Occasionally she referred to her husband over a question of days
or dates. His watchful and attentive manner never varied. From
the very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him, and I
flatter myself that my first judgments are usually fairly shrewd.

Presently Mrs. Inglethorp turned to give some instructions about
letters to Evelyn Howard, and her husband addressed me in his
painstaking voice:

"Is soldiering your regular profession, Mr. Hastings?"