in time to hear Mr. Stanway ask for Mrs. Hale in his crisp, affected voice.
He always spoke with an "English" inflection to which he added an air of aloofness in his manner of standing and gazing at one; and he strove for—and undoubtedly to some, he attained—distinction in his clothes. Marjorie had never seen him, even about the office, in a practical business suit such as her father wore in daytime; and now his tall, ascetic-looking figure appeared more disdainful than usual in a buttoned black cutaway coat of the severest English fashion with gray and black striped trousers without a visible wrinkle. He did not—when in Chicago, at least—go so far as to assume a single eyeglass, but he suggested the effect by wearing about his collar a narrow black ribbon which went to pince-nez, usually in his waistcoat pocket, but which he took in his hand and held up toward his thin, narrow nose when he wished to be impressive. Marjorie had never seen the glasses actually in place on his nose since he had begun carrying them about five years ago when his hair first showed gray.
He pulled them from his pocket now as she neared him and held them up in his usual manner as though, without them, he could not recognize her.
"Ah! How do you do?" he replied to her in one tone, after she had spoken his name. "How do you do? You are Miss Hale, undoubtedly; of course I know you, Miss Mary Hale; or is it Martha?"
"My name's Marjorie," she told him, and was furious at herself; he always at first was doubtful about her; always forgot her name; and, always, as now, he patronized her afterwards.
"Of course, I remember well when you were born;
