The mention of this name seemed to have the effect of rendering every one grave, and a pause ensued, during which Oaklands and I exchanged glances. At length the silence was broken by Curtis, who said:—
“By the way, what's become of Wilford? I expected to meet him here to-night.”
“He was engaged to dine with Wentworth,” said Lawless; “but he promised to look in upon us in the course of the evening; I thought he would have been here before this.”
As he spoke a tap was heard at the room-door.
“Well, that's odd,” continued Lawless; “that's Wilford for a ducat; talk of the devil,—eh, don't you know? Come in.”
“You had better not repeat that in his hearing,” observed Archer, “though I believe he'd take it as a compliment on the whole; it's my opinion he rather affects the satanic.”
“Hush,” said Curtis, pressing his arm, “here he is.”
As he spoke the door opened, and the subject of their remarks entered. He was rather above the middle height, of a slight but unusually elegant figure, with remarkably small hands and feet, the former of which were white and smooth as those of a woman. His features were delicately formed and regular, and the shape of his face a perfect oval; strongly marked eyebrows overshadowed a pair of piercing black eyes; his lips were thin and compressed, and his mouth finely cut; his hair, which was unusually glossy and luxuriant, was jet black, as were his whiskers, affording a marked contrast to the death-like pallor of his countenance. The only fault that could be found in the drawing of his face was that the eyes were placed too near together; but this imparted a character of intensity to his glance which added to, rather than detracted from, the general effect of his appearance. His features, when in repose, were usually marked by an expression of contemptuous indifference; he seldom laughed, but his smile conveyed an indication of such bitter sarcasm that I have seen men, whom he chose to make a butt for his ridicule, writhe under it as under the infliction of bodily torture. He was dressed, as was his wont, entirely in black; but his clothes, which were fashionably cut, fitted him without a wrinkle. He bowed slightly to the assembled company, and then seated himself in a chair which had been reserved for him at the upper end of the table, nearly opposite Oaklands and myself, saying as he did so: “I'm afraid I'm rather late, Lawless, but Wentworth and I had a little business to transact, and I could not get away sooner”.
“What devil's deed have they been at now, I wonder?” whispered Oaklands to me.
“Manslaughter, most likely,” replied Archer (who was seated next me, and had overheard the remark), “Wilford appears so thoroughly satisfied with himself; that was just the way in which he looked the morning he winged Sherringham, for I saw him myself.”