Marston flung the letter from him with an expression of rage. Was this wretched business, which he would give the world to forget, always to be flaunted before his eyes in some form or other?
He had just risen from perusing his answers when the servant informed him that a gentleman wished to see him on most particular business.
‘What is the gentleman like?’ he asked, half fearing that his persecution had commenced.
The servant described him.
It was no one that Marston knew.
‘Show him into the library,’ he said. ‘I’ll come directly.’
It was not without some slight misgiving that Marston went to see his visitor.
He had always an undefined dread of something unpleasant.
The gentleman in the library was an ordinary individual with a professional cut about his clothes.
He rose as Mr. Marston entered, and bowed politely.