“My brother-in-law, Marmaduke Dugdale—or 'Duke Dugdale,' as everybody about here calls him. Holloa, Duke!”
And Agatha, through her blue veil, “was ware,” as old chronicles say, of a country-looking gentleman coming down the street in a mild, lazy, dreamy fashion, his hat pushed up at a considerable elevation from his forehead, leaving a mass of light hair straggling out at the back, his eyes bent thoughtfully on the pavement, and his hands crossed behind him.
“Holloa, Duke!” cried Nathanael, for the second time, before he caught the attention of this very abstracted personage.
“Eh—is it you? You don't say so! E—h!”
Agatha was amused by the long, sweet-sounding drawl of the last monosyllable, which seemed formed out of all the five vowels rolled into one. It was said in such a pleasant voice, with such a simple, child-like air of delighted astonishment, that Agatha, conquering her shyness at this first meeting with one of her husband's family, peeped behind Nathanael's shoulder at Mr. Dugdale.
She saw—what to her keen sense of beauty was a considerable shock—the very plainest man she thought she had ever beheld!
“Mr. Dugdale—my wife.”
“Indeed! Very glad to see her.” And Agatha who was intending merely to bow, felt her hand buried in another thrice its size, which gave it a shy, gentle, but thoroughly cordial shake. “And really, now I think of it, I was coming to meet you. The Missus told me to do it.”
“How is 'the Missus?'” asked Mr. Harper.
“Quite well—they're all waiting for you. So make haste—the Squire is very particular as to time, you know!”