“Thank you, Mr. Hennigar,” she said politely, but with a grimace toward the crack in the door.
“Not at all,” he replied, in his English accent, in his unforgettable voice of harsh, bubbling overtones. “I say, Miss MacDowell, did you see anything of those dashed first year exam. books?”
“They’re all here,” she replied indifferently. “Any time you want them.”
Nutbrown Hennigar opened the door and gave Mauney a quick, direct stare from his intensely black eyes. He had never lectured to Mauney and had forgotten meeting him at the de Freville dinner.
“May I introduce Mr. Bard—Mr. Hennigar,” said Freda politely.
Hennigar advanced suddenly, in his characteristic abrupt and shuffling way.
“How d’juh do!” he said briefly, taking Mauney’s hand, and then dropping it as if it were hot. “Mr. Bard? Why, of course, how stupid of me!” he said, pushing his bone-rimmed, nose spectacles further down toward the point of his nose, and pulling at a black ribbon that tethered them around the base of his collar. “I understand you are joining our staff.”
“Yes,” smiled Mauney. “I have been given the opportunity and naturally consider it a good one.”
“Oh, rather!” coughed Hennigar, with emphasis, as he took a blue, silk handkerchief from its concealed position in his coat sleeve. “It’s really awfully good. By the way, I have the honor to be conversing with an author, if I’m not mistaken. I have read your book, Mr. Bard.”