And to-night Mr. Rickman was later than ever.
"I'm really beginning to be afraid," said Mrs. Downey, "that he can't be coming."
The middle-aged gentleman, Mr. Soper, was heard muttering something to the effect that he thought they could bear up if he didn't come. Whereupon Mrs. Downey begged Mr. Soper's pardon in a manner which was a challenge to him to repeat his last remark. Therefore he repeated it.
"I say, I 'ope we can manage to bear up."
"Speak for yourself, Mr. Soper." (This from Mr. Spinks who adored Rickman.)
"Well, really, I can't think how it is you and he don't seem to hit it off together. A young fellow that can make himself so pleasant when he likes."
"Ah-h! When he likes. And when he doesn't like? When he comes into the room like a young lord with his head in the air, and plumps himself down straight in front of you, and looks at you as if you were a sorter ea'wig or a centerpede? Call that pleasant?"
Mr. Spinks chuckled behind his table napkin. "He means a centre piece. Wouldn't he make a handsome one!"
Mr. Soper combined a certain stateliness of carriage with a restless insignificance of feature.
"We all know," said Mrs. Downey, "that Mr. Rickman is a very reserved gentleman. He has his own thoughts."