He stood with his legs apart, his hat set rather jauntily upon his head, looking an entirely different person to that crabbed, strange old fellow who sat behind the bar of sunlight, with the banknotes in his claw-like fingers, every detail of that scene was as vivid in my memory as though it had occurred but yesterday. Again, I looked into his face. Yes, I had no doubt whatever that it was he.
“I—I am the first to bid you welcome to Atworth,” Beryl said. “Nora has gone over with some of the people to visit the Haywards, at Dodington. There’s a flower-show there.”
“I quite remember,” he exclaimed, “I went over there last year. Lady Dyrham drove us. Do you recollect?”
“Of course,” she laughed. “And how it rained too. My new frock was quite spoilt, and I had a bad cold for a fortnight afterwards. I’m not likely to easily forget that drive home.”
“Because of the spoilt frock?” he laughed, raising his small eyes to me.
“Yes, I suppose that’s what has impressed itself upon my memory. We women are never forgetful where clothes are concerned.”
“And who’s here? Anybody I know?” he inquired.
“Oh, there are the Pirries and the Tiremans, as usual, and, of course, Lady Dyrham,” she answered. Then, a moment later she added, “This is Doctor Colkirk—Mr Ashwicke. Let me introduce you, if you have not already met before.”
“We have not had that pleasure,” said the Tempter, turning to me and raising his hat.
He remained perfectly calm, betraying no sign whatever of recognition. In this I saw an intention on his part to deny all knowledge of our previous acquaintance.