“She’s a bit slow. She’s got rheumatism in her feet. I know you, but you don’t know me. I’ve seen you at your father’s church. My name’s Bennett Lawrie. I’m in business. It’s beastly.”
“Do you often go to our church?”
“I go to all the High Churches, when I can get away. I wanted to be a clergyman, but I suppose I never shall be now.”
“You’d better come and see us. We have supper on Sundays for anybody who likes to come.”
“I’d just love to know your father.”
“I want to see your father.”
“Oh! My father!”
The boy shied away on that, and again the door was opened six inches. Bennett pushed it open and disappeared into the dark house leaving Frederic confronted with the gaunt personage who owned the haggard face.
“Will ye come with me now?” she said.
Frederic followed her down a long gloomy passage and into a large dining-room, where at the table, surrounded with papers, sat James Lawrie, cursing, smoking, and writing full tilt. He had a huge cup of strong coffee by his side. His brows were drawn tight over his eyes, and Frederic was most struck by his huge jutting nose. He seemed all nose—a nose and a flying pen. He took no notice of Frederic, but growled: