“That is Sir Francis.”
“No!” uttered Bethel, a whole world of astounded meaning in his tone. “By Jove! He Sir Francis Levison?”
At that moment their eyes met, Francis Levison’s and Otway Bethel’s. Otway Bethel raised his shaggy hat in salutation, and Sir Francis appeared completely scared. Only for an instant did he lose his presence of mind. The next, his eyeglass was stuck in his eye and turned on Mr. Bethel, with a hard, haughty stare; as much as to say, who are you, fellow, that you should take such a liberty? But his cheeks and lips were growing as white as marble.
“Do you know Levison, Mr. Otway?” inquired old Dill.
“A little. Once.”
“When he was not Levison, but somebody else,” laughed Mr. Ebenezer James. “Eh, Bethel?”
Bethel turned as reproving a stare on Mr. Ebenezer as the baronet had just turned on him. “What do you mean, pray? Mind your own business.”
A nod to old Dill, and he turned off and disappeared, taking no further notice of James. The old gentleman questioned the latter.
“What was that little bit of by-play, Mr. Ebenezer?”
“Nothing much,” laughed Mr. Ebenezer. “Only he,” nodding towards Sir Francis, “was not always the great man he is now.”