Adam looked up. “Thank you,” he said, “it is our misfortune to have ordered, just as you were coming in.”
“The misfortune is mine,” insisted Randolph. He drank alone.
Rust had taken in the visitor’s details at a glance. The man was of medium size and nervous temperament. He had a great brow, heavy with perceptive faculties, at the expense of those of reflection. His eyes were deep-set, round, intense and close together, the nose that divided them being as thin and curved as a beak. His lips were thin and tight-shutting. He looked like a human bird-of-prey.
“By your dress and manner you are recently from England,” said the man, sauntering leisurely toward Adam, when he had smacked his lips and set down his mug.
“By your courtesy,” said Adam, “you are a student, curious to know your fellow-beings.”
Randolph laughed. “Curious?” said he. “You do me wrong. I care neither who nor what a gentleman is, so long as he is witty and blest with humor. Your repute and the tale of your love for dancing have preceded you, sir. I confess I was tempted to come here and see you.”
“I beseech you for an opportunity to say that I was merely charitable,” said Rust. “I ordered the dance to amuse my beef-eaters. Perhaps you are a dancer yourself?”
Randolph bit his lip. He was not getting on to his liking. He smiled, however, and said:
“I have few graces, after I have mentioned a sense of admiration——”
“And blandishment,” put in Adam, who frankly disliked the man.