When Dr. Sturk had come into the drawing-room before dinner, Dangerfield
was turning over a portfolio in the shade beyond the window, and the
evening sun was shining strongly in his own face; so that during the
ceremony of introduction he had seen next to nothing of him, and then
sauntered away to the bow window at the other end, where the ladies were
assembled, to make his obeisance.
But at the dinner-table, he was placed directly opposite, with the
advantage of a very distinct view; and the face, relieved against the
dark stamped leather hangings on the wall, stood out like a
sharply-painted portrait, and produced an odd and unpleasant effect upon
Sturk, who could not help puzzling himself then, and for a long time
after, with unavailing speculations about him.
The grim white man opposite did not appear to trouble his head about
Sturk. He eat his dinner energetically, chatted laconically, but rather
pleasantly. Sturk thought he might be eight-and-forty, or perhaps six or
seven-and-fifty--it was a face without a date. He went over all his
points, insignificant features, high forehead, stern countenance,
abruptly silent, abruptly speaking, spectacles, harsh voice, harsher
laugh, something sinister perhaps, and used for the most part when the
joking or the story had a flavour of the sarcastic and the devilish.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219