I had sat with my head bent on my plate, trying to seem unconcerned, as if the matter were no business of mine. The sudden address of Mr. Chandos turned my face crimson. Lady Chandos looked at me.
"He—is very ugly," I stammered in my perplexity.
"Is he?" she cried, turning to her son.
"He is rather ill-favoured, mother; a short, dark man. There's one redeeming feature in his face; his teeth. They are small, white, and regular: very beautiful."
"What is his name?"
"I don't know," said Mr. Chandos.
"Not know his name!" repeated Lady Chandos, laughing slightly; "and yet you accepted him as tenant!"
"Oh, well, Dexter made all the arrangements. I did not interfere personally."
"I think, before I accepted a man as tenant, I should make myself acquainted with his name," spoke Lady Chandos, in a half-joking tone, evidently attaching no importance to the matter. "Do you happen to have heard it, Hickens?"
"No, my lady."