Thomas Craik rubbed his emaciated hands slowly together and looked sideways at his visitor.
“Yes,” said George, “I am going to marry Miss Trimm——”
“Call her Mamie, call her Mamie—own niece of mine, you know. No use standing on ceremony.”
“I think it is as well to call her Miss Trimm until we are married,” George observed, rather coldly.
“Oh, you think so, do you? Well, well. Not to her face, I hope?”
George thought that Mr. Craik was one of the most particularly odious old gentlemen he had ever met. He changed the subject as quickly as he could.
“What a wonderful collection of beautiful things you have, Mr. Craik,” he said, glancing at a set of Urbino dishes that were fastened against the wall nearest to him.
“Something, something,” replied Mr. Craik, modestly. “Fond of pretty things? Understand majolica?”
“I am very fond of pretty things, but I know nothing about majolica. I believe the subject needs immense study. They say you are a great authority on all these things.”
“Oh, they say so, do they? Well, well. Books are more in your line, eh? Some in the other room if you like to see them. Come?”