Obediently, the Viscount turned the crumpled paper over, and thereafter sat staring wide-eyed at a name scrawled thereon, and from it to Barnabas and back again; for the name he saw was this:
RONALD BARRYMAINE ESQUIRE.
"And Dick," said Barnabas, "it is in Chichester's handwriting."
CHAPTER L
IN WHICH RONALD BARRYMAINE SPEAKS HIS MIND
The whiskers of Mr. Digby Smivvle were in a chastened mood, indeed their habitual ferocity was mitigated to such a degree that they might almost be said to wilt, or droop. Mr. Digby Smivvle drooped likewise; in a word, Mr. Smivvle was despondent.
He sat in one of the rickety chairs, his legs stretched out to the
cheerless hearth, and stared moodily at the ashes of a long dead fire.
At the opening of the door he started and half rose, but seeing
Barnabas, sank back again.
"Beverley," he cried, "thank heaven you're safe back again—that is to say—" he went on, striving to speak in his ordinary manner, "that is to say,—I mean—ah—in short, my dear Beverley, I'm delighted to see you!"
"Pray what do you mean by safe?"
"What do I mean?" repeated Mr. Smivvle, beginning to fumble for his whisker with strangely clumsy fingers, "why, I mean—safe, sir,—a very natural wish, surely?"