The tranquillity of his career and the quietude of his tastes had
preserved his youthfulness. And, further, he had the air of a
successful, solid, much-respected individual. To be a cashier, though
worthy, is not to be a nabob, but a bachelor can save a lot out of over
twenty years of regular salary. And Mr Loggerheads had saved quite a
lot. And he had had opportunities of advantageously investing his
savings. Then everybody knew him, and he knew everybody. He handed out
gold at least once a week to nearly half the town, and you cannot help
venerating a man who makes a practice of handing out gold to you. And he
had thrilled thousands with the wistful beauty of his voice in "The
Sands of Dee." In a word, Simon Loggerheads was a personage, if not
talkative.
They went into the drawing-room. Mary Morfe closed the door gently.
Simon Loggerheads strolled vaguely and self-consciously up to the
fireplace, murmuring:
"So he's gone out?"
"Yes," said Mary Morfe, in confirmation of her first statement.
"I'm sorry!" said Simon Loggerheads. A statement which was absolutely
contrary to the truth. Simon Loggerheads was deeply relieved and glad
that Richard Morfe was out.
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