"Oh, yes, sir, a whole box."
"Please bring it, and you shall similarly adorn me and see how I look."
Jane-Anne was puzzled. He certainly had not admired her, but then, again, he had not condemned, and he wanted some himself. Swiftly and softly as a panther (lest she should meet her aunt) she fetched the powder and the screw of cotton wool from her room.
"Now," said Mr. Wycherly, "do me."
Jane-Anne made a dreadful mess. All over his coat, his chair (even the writing-table did not escape), fell the "Magnolia Bloom."
"What a very disagreeable smell the stuff has got," said Mr. Wycherly, and sneezed. He hated common scents.
At this psychological moment, when they were both smothered in powder and clouds of it were in the air, Mrs. Dew opened the study door, announcing:
"Mr. Gloag, sir."
Jane-Anne started violently and upset the box, and the visitor announced came into the room.
He was tall and young, with a keen, clean-shaven face, merry dark eyes, and dark curly hair worn a thought longer than is usual with young men.