In the pause that followed there was a ring at the bell, an argument with the servant, something that sounded like a scuffle, and then a young man strolled into the room. He was tall and beautifully dressed,—at least that was the first impression,—though, as a matter of fact, the clothes were of the cheapest ready-made variety. But nothing could look cheap or ill made on those splendid muscles. He wore a silk shirt, a flower in his buttonhole, a gray tie in which was a pearl as big as a pea, long patent-leather shoes with elaborate buff-colored tops; he carried a thin stick and a pair of new gloves in one hand, but the most conspicuous object in his dress was a brand-new, gray felt hat, with a rather wide brim, which he wore at an angle greater than Mr. Lanley attempted even at his jauntiest. His face was long and rather dark, and his eyes were a bright gray blue, under dark brows. He was scowling.
He strode into the middle of the room, and stood there, with his feet wide apart and his elbows slightly swaying. His hat was still on.
“Your servant said you couldn’t see me,” he said, with his back teeth set together, a method of enunciation that seemed to be habitual.
“Didn’t want to would be truer, Marty,” answered Mrs. Wayne, with the utmost good temper. “Still, as long as you’re here, what do you want?”
Marty Burke didn’t answer at once. He stood looking at Mrs. Wayne under his lowering brows; he had stopped swinging his elbows, and was now very slightly twitching his cane, as an evilly disposed cat will twitch the end of its tail.
Mrs. Farron watched him almost breathlessly. She was a little frightened, but the sensation was pleasurable. He was, she knew, the finest specimen of the human animal that she had ever seen.
“What do I want?” he said at length in a deep, rich voice, shot here and there with strange nasal tones, and here and there with the remains of a brogue. “Well, I want that you should stop persecuting those poor kids.”
“I persecuting them? Don’t be absurd, Marty,” answered Mrs. Wayne.
“Persecuting them; what else?” retorted Marty, fiercely. “What else is it? They wanting to get married, and you determined to send the boy up the river.”
“I don’t think we’ll go over that again. I have a lady here on business.”