"So you've managed it!" smiled Mrs. Woodburn.
"I was determined not to miss it," replied the young man, striding up the steps stiff in his top-boots. "Miss Woodburn, congratulations."
"Who told you?" cried Boy, taken aback.
"Billy Bluff, of course," replied the other. "Caddish of him, wasn't it?"
They went into the parlour.
Mrs. Woodburn did not offer the traveller a drink for the simple reason that it never occurred to her to do so.
"By Jove! I am late!" cried the young man, glancing at the clock. "There was a break-down at Hayward's Heath."
He stripped off his ulster, and stood up in his pink coat, his baggy white breeches, and top-boots.
In Boy Woodburn's judgment most men, so attired, looked supremely ridiculous. It was not so with Mr. Silver. It may be that his absolute lack of self-consciousness distracted attention from his costume. It may be that he was so real himself that he dominated his artificial habiliments. Certainly his strong, clean face, his short, crisp hair, and pleasant, booming voice possessed and pleased the girl.
"You'd better be off, or you'll have the Duke down on you," said Mrs. Woodburn.