"I'm very glad to meet you, Canon Ronder," he said. "I've heard so much
about you." His voice, as Mrs. Combermere long afterwards remarked, "has a
twinkle in it." It was a jolly voice, humorous, generous but incisive, and
exceedingly clear. It had a very slight accent, so slight that no one
could ever decide on its origin. The books said that Wistons had been born
in London, and that his father had been Rector of Lambeth for many years;
it was also quickly discovered by penetrating Polcastrians that he had a
not very distant French ancestry. Was it Cockney? "I expect," said Miss
Stiles, "that he played with the little Lambeth children when he was
small"--but no one really knew...
The two men sat down facing one another, and Wistons looked strange indeed
with his shoulders hunched up, his thin little legs like two cross-bones,
one over the other, his black hair and pale face.
"I feel rather like a thief in the night," he said, "stealing down here.
But Foster wanted me to come, and I confess to a certain curiosity
myself."
"You would like to come to Pybus if things go that way?" Ronder asked him.
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