without the formality of an introduction.
Uncle Elbert! How desperately the old man must desire his daughter to
have planned a mad scheme like this with a subterfuge at the expense of
his best friend cunningly hidden away in the heart of it. Yet, after the
first staggering flash, Varney had found it impossible to be angry with
Mr. Carstairs. He only felt sorry for him, sorrier than he had ever felt
for anybody in his life. The old man's madness and his deceit were but
the measure of his desire for his daughter. And the more he desired her,
so it seemed to Varney, the more he was entitled to have her.
Interrupting his meditations, the steward approached on silent feet,
bearing a flat brown-paper package in his hand. It appeared that the
under-steward had just returned from a marketing tour in Hunston, had
met Mr. Maginnis on the street, and been ordered to take back the parcel
to Mr. Varney.
"All right, McTosh," said Varney.
He broke the string with some curiosity and pulled off the wrappers.
Within was nothing but a copy of a current literary monthly.
A present of a magazine from Peter! This was a delicate apology for his
remissness, indeed. "He will be sending me chocolates next," thought
Varney, not a little puzzled.
He turned the pages curiously. Soon, observing a bit of brown
wrapping-paper sticking out between the leaves, he opened the magazine
at that point and found himself looking at a picture; and he sat still
and stared at it for a long time.
It was the full-page portrait of a young man of some thirty years: a
rather thin young man with a high forehead, a straight nose, and a
smallish chin. The face was good-looking, but somehow not quite
attractive. About the eyes was an expression faintly unpleasant, which
the neat glasses did not hide. On the somewhat slack lip was a slight
twist, not agreeable, which the well-kept mustache could not conceal.
Still it was an interesting face, clever, assured, half-insolent. To
Varney, it was exceptionally interesting; for removing the mustache and
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