With a glistening in his eyes which he would have scornfully protested was not a tear, he turned away and walked moodily back to Shy Street, caring little if it were to be the last walk he should ever take.
He was not, however, to be allowed much time for indulging his gloomy reflections on reaching his journey’s end. A person was waiting outside the office, pacing up and down the pavement to keep himself warm. The stranger took a good look at Reginald as he entered and let himself in, and then followed up the stairs and presented himself.
“Is Mr Reginald at home?” inquired he blandly.
Reginald noticed that he was a middle-aged person, dressed in a sort of very shabby clerical costume, awkward in his manner, but not unintelligent in face.
“That is my name,” replied he.
“Thank you. I am glad to see you, Mr Reginald. You were kind enough to send me a communication not long ago about—well, about a suit of clothes.”
His evident hesitation to mention anything that would call attention to his own well-worn garb made Reginald feel quite sorry for him.
“Oh yes,” said he, taking good care not to look at his visitor’s toilet, “we sent a good many of the circulars to clergymen.”
“Very considerate,” said the visitor. “I was away from home and have only just received it.”
And he took the circular out of his pocket, and seating himself on a chair began to peruse it.