“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
cheeked, and he too was slightly bald and had curly hair; and yet he was no more like Cosmo than the Duke of Wellington was like Napoleon Bonaparte. The intensity and directness of her gaze embarrassed both the girl and her brother, and the latter nervously raised his hand to his face, possibly as if to conceal it, then changed his mind in the act and touched his cap to the Captain.
“Good morning,” returned Ponsonby stiffly.
“Good morning, sir,” answered Bennett confusedly. Something about the man recalled in a vague fashion a long-forgotten impression to Lily,—she had a statesman's gift for faces—a distant and not altogether pleasant recollection of her wedding to Trevelyan, with its crowds of relatives and acquaintances, its awkward congratulations and useless, ponderous gifts of glass and silver. Had she ever known this person? Had she perhaps seen him doing duty in some ungainly and clownish fashion on the occasion when the employees of the bank had presented her husband with a loving cup? Ah, that was it! This must be the man who had made the speech of congratulation,—had expressed in halting, insipid, and165
