for the Mountain to be up and doing. Therefore, just as Mr. Philip, enveloped in a sky-blue dressing-gown, was pouring out his coffee with an uncertain hand, something rather portentous was ushered into the presence of the wicked young prodigal.
The white eyebrows of the great Proconsul were a triumph of brushwork; the set of the tie was stern uncommonly; indeed, the whole paternal aspect was enough to strike awe in the heart of the beholder.
The evidence that it did so, however, is not altogether conclusive.
The young waster buttering his toast at a quarter-past eleven in a sky-blue dressing-gown, rose and offered his hand in an easy and leisurely, but withal in a manly and unaffected fashion.
"I was just comin' round, father," said the young man.
Father declined a cup of coffee and a cigarette without any effervescence of gratitude.
"Take a pew, won't you?" said the young man, returning to his toast and butter.
Cool and off-handed young fellow, perhaps, thus to receive a great Proconsul, still his tone was not without deference, even if his air was casual.
Father took a pew.
"You don't look very comfy in that one. Take the one with the arms to it."
