"Your very obedient servant, madam."
With that and a fine bow, Dunwoodie greeted Cassy when Jones had
succeeded in getting her into the inner and airy office. The old ruffian
drew a chair.
"Do me the honour."
Cassy sat down. What a funny old man, she thought.
Jones addressing the door, remarked dreamily: "Pendente lite, I will
renew my acquaintance with Swinburne's 'Espousals.'"
Dunwoodie glared. "You will find it in the library." Then he sat down,
folded his hands on his waistcoat and smiled at Cassy. "Nice day."
"Very."
"Down here often?"
Cassy shook her docked hair. "No, and I don't at all know why I am here
now. I do know though, and I may as well tell you at once, I have no
intention of making a fuss."
Dunwoodie's smile, a smile quasi-ogrish, semi-paternal, expanded. "If
our Potsdam friend only resembled you!"
For a young woman so recently and doubly bereaved, Cassy's blue smock
and yellow skirt seemed to him properly subdued. Moreover, from a word
that Jones had dropped, he realised that wealth had not presided at
their selection.