"They're not men," he said to his sister; "they're worms of the underworld, waiting for the corpse to be lowered its regulation six feet."
Mrs. Durlacher shuddered. "You make use of horrible similes sometimes, Jack," she said.
"I see some horrible things," said Traill. "Look at that waiter, hovering like a vulture, while the fat old gentleman from Aberdeen goes through the items of the bill. He might just as well shut one eye and stand on one leg to make the picture complete. That's rather a pretty girl, too, at the same table."
His sister looked in the direction. "Why, he's not from Aberdeen," she said, daintily. "That's Sir Standish-Roe; he sits on boards in the city."
"A vigorous exercise like that ought to reduce his bulk," said Traill. "Do you know them, then?"
"Yes."
"Who's the girl?"
"That's his daughter. I'll introduce you after dinner if they're not hurrying off to a theatre."
"No you don't," said Traill; "baited traps don't catch me, however alluring they are."
So they talked, all through dinner, criticizing in idle good-humour the various people about them. Whenever he was in his sister's company Traill sharpened his wits. Putting on the social gloss, he called it, whenever she laughed at his remarks and told him he would be a God-send at some of her dinners.