"Yes.
"For," said Layard, as they lit their pipes, "my sister says she is certain Mr. Bramwell doesn't smoke; and her reason for thinking so is because he seems not to be a fool."
"Then," said Ray, putting down his pipe, "perhaps Miss Layard objects to smoking."
"Not she," said Layard; "it is only her disagreeable way of rebuking me. Please go on with your pipe."
"Old maids," thought Ray, "invariably do object to smoking. I'm sorry I sat down, and now I can't in decency get up for a while. An elderly female edition of this man would be a dreadful sight."
His own handsome face, with its straight brows and straight nose, was reflected behind Layard's back in the little mirror of the chiffonier.
"You do not live in this neighbourhood?" asked Layard, when Ray had resumed his pipe.
"No. I live in Camberwell."
Layard straightened himself in his chair, and looked hard at the other for a few seconds.
"That receding forehead," thought Ray, "indicates a weak intellect. I hope I am not face to face alone with a madman. What on earth is the ape looking at! I wish this gorgon sister, however hideous she may be, would come in."