"Exactly. Of course Enid is a stunner."
"But it was about you, and not my daughter, that I wished to talk. Perhaps it will save time if I ask you a few questions. That is usual on these occasions, is it not?"
"Well, as to that, I can't say," and he laughed stupidly. "This is the first time I've been bowled over."
"As a question to begin with—what about your prospects, in whatever career you have planned?"
"My plans, don't you know, would depend more or less on Enid."
"But you can give me some account of your position in the world—and so forth."
"Oh, well, that's pretty well known—such as it is. Not brilliant, don't you know.... But I relied on Enid to tell you all that."
"No, please don't rely on her. Only rely on yourself, Mr. Kenion."
Something of the quiet swagger had evaporated. The sunshine came streaming down from a skylight and fell upon him. Mrs. Thompson had put him where he would get all the light, and she scrutinized him attentively.
His suit of grey flannels, although not of sporting cut or material, suggested nothing but a stable and horses; and beneath his casual air of gentlemanly ease there was raffishness, looseness, disreputability. In the bright sunbeams he looked sallow and bilious; his eyelids drooped, an incipient yawn was lazily suppressed; and she thought that very likely he had been drinking last night and would soon be drinking again this morning.