"
"No, sir."
"Remember that in future, will you?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sure I'm sorry, sir, but----"
Brandon went into his study.
Hogg was standing beside the window, a faded bowler in his hand. He turned
when he heard the opening of the door; he presented to the Archdeacon a
face of smiling and genial, if coarsened, amiability.
He was wearing rough country clothes, brown knickerbockers and gaiters,
and looked something like a stout and seedy gamekeeper fond of the bottle.
"I'm sure you'll forgive this liberty I've taken, Archdeacon," he said,
opening his mouth very wide as he smiled--"waiting for you like this; but
the matter's a bit urgent."
"Yes?" said Brandon, not moving from the door.
"I've come in a friendly spirit, although there are men who might have
come otherwise. You won't deny that, considering the circumstances of the
case."
"I'll be grateful to you if you'll explain," said Brandon, "as quickly as
possibly your business."
"Why, of course," said Hogg, coming away from the window. "Why, of course,
Archdeacon. Now, whoever would have thought that we, you and me, would be
in the same box? And that's putting it a bit mild considering that it's my
daughter that your son has run away with.
Pages:
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402