He was a man of middle height—the thinnest, whitest, most shadowy living man they had ever seen.
“You are welcome to Wolfscliff, my dears,” he said, giving a hand each to Palma and to Cleve.
“We are very glad to see you, uncle,” said the two in one breath.
“And this lady?” said the old-fashioned gentleman, with native courtesy as he held out his hand to Mrs. Pole, of whom he had just caught sight.
“Our friend, Mrs. Pole, who never leaves Palma, uncle,” explained Cleve.
“Ah! I am glad to see you, ma’am,” said Mr. Cleve.
“Thank you, sir. I am only Mrs. Cleve Stuart’s housekeeper and attendant,” said Mrs. Pole, who would not consent to seem a half an inch above her real social position.
“Ah! And a very trusted and esteemed friend, also, I have no doubt,” replied the old gentleman.
“She is, indeed, sir, like a mother to my delicate Palma,” assented Stuart.
“I am very glad she consented to accompany you here,” said Mr. Cleve.