She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. " "Very well," replied Thames, about to depart. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. " He opened his eyes again. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. " "He then," continued the woollen-draper, "is no longer considered—" "How, Sir?" cried Thames, advancing, "what is the meaning of your reference to my name? Have you dared to insult this lady? If so—" "Insult her!" replied Kneebone, rising, and endeavouring to hide his embarrassment under a look of defiance. "I'll cut down him who opposes me.
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