“You think so?”
“I am convinced of it. By the way, who is the old gentleman who came to tea this afternoon?”
“Signor Bruno, do you mean?”
“I suppose so—that super-innocent old man with the white hair who wears window-glass spectacles.”
“Are they window-glass?” asked Sidney, with a little laugh.
“They struck me as window-glass—quite flat. Who is he—beyond his name, I mean?”
“He is an Italian refugee—lives in the village.”
Mr. Bodery had taken his silver pencil from his waistcoat pocket, and was rolling it backwards and forwards on the table. This was indicative of the fact that the editor of the Beacon was thinking deeply.
“Ah! And how long has he been here?”
“Only a few weeks.”