"They're not men," he said to his sister; "they're worms of the
underworld, waiting for the corpse to be lowered its regulation six
feet."
Mrs. Durlacher shuddered. "You make use of horrible similes
sometimes, Jack," she said.
"I see some horrible things," said Traill. "Look at that waiter,
hovering like a vulture, while the fat old gentleman from Aberdeen
goes through the items of the bill. He might just as well shut one
eye and stand on one leg to make the picture complete. That's rather
a pretty girl, too, at the same table."
His sister looked in the direction. "Why, he's not from Aberdeen,"
she said, daintily. "That's Sir Standish-Roe; he sits on boards in
the city."
"A vigorous exercise like that ought to reduce his bulk," said Traill.
"Do you know them, then?"
"Yes."
"Who's the girl?"
"That's his daughter. I'll introduce you after dinner if they're not
hurrying off to a theatre."
"No you don't," said Traill; "baited traps don't catch me, however
alluring they are."
So they talked, all through dinner, criticizing in idle good-humour
the various people about them. Whenever he was in his sister's
company Traill sharpened his wits.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244