Jenny kissed him much as she would have kissed the walrus he slightly resembled; then she retreated, finger in mouth, backwards until she bumped against the table by which she leaned to look at the stranger, much as she would have looked at a walrus.
Her father came in after a while, and his wife said:
"Mr. Timpany."
"Mr. Timpany, a friend of father's."
"Oh," said Charlie. "Pleased to meet you," with which he retired to a chair in a dusky corner and was silent for a long time. At last he asked:
"Have you been to Paris, Mr.... Tippery? Thrippenny, I should say."
"Timpany, Charlie. I wish you'd listen. Have you got cloth ears? Of course he's been to Paris, and, for gracious, don't you start your stories. One would think to hear you talk as you were the only man on earth as had ever been further than Islington."
"I was in Paris once some years back—on business," Charlie remarked. "I think Paris is a knockout, as towns go. Not but what I like London better. Only you see more life in Paris," and he relapsed into silence, until finally Mr. Timpany said he must be going.
"Who's he?" demanded Mr. Raeburn, when his wife came back from escorting her visitor to the door.