His
frock-coat had been carefully brushed and ironed, and the ends of his
narrow black tie were so nearly even that the tying must have cost him
a protracted struggle. His appearance struck her all the more because it
was the first time she had looked him full in the face since the night
at Nettleton, and nothing in his grave and impressive demeanour revealed
a trace of the lamentable figure on the wharf.
He stood a moment behind the desk, resting his finger-tips against it,
and bending slightly toward his audience; then he straightened himself
and began.
At first she paid no heed to what he was saying: only fragments of
sentences, sonorous quotations, allusions to illustrious men,
including the obligatory tribute to Honorius Hatchard, drifted past her
inattentive ears. She was trying to discover Harney among the notable
people in the front row; but he was nowhere near Miss Hatchard, who,
crowned by a pearl-grey hat that matched her gloves, sat just below the
desk, supported by Mrs. Miles and an important-looking unknown lady.
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