Alfred was somewhat undergrown, but of solid build. He
walked in a sturdy and rather aggressive way, and his plump face
seemed to indicate an intelligence, bright, indeed, but of the less
refined order. His head was held stiffly, and his whole bearing
betrayed a desire to make the most of his defective stature. His
shake of the hand was an abrupt downward jerk, like a pull at a
bell-rope. In the smile with which he met Mr. Wyvern a supercilious
frame of mind was not altogether concealed; he seemed anxious to
have it understood that in _him_ the clerical attire inspired
nothing whatever of superstitious reverence. Reverence, in truth,
was not Mr. Waltham's failing.
Mr. Wyvern, as his habit was at introductions, spoke no words, but
held the youth's hand for a few moments and looked him in the eyes.
Alfred turned his head aside uneasily, and was a trifle ruddy in the
cheeks when at length he regained his liberty.
'By-the-by,' he remarked to his mother when he had seated himself,
with crossed legs, 'Eldon has turned up at last. He passed us in a
cab, or so Adela said. I didn't catch a glimpse of the individual.'
'Really!' exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. 'He was coming from Agworth
station?'
'I suppose so. There was a trunk on the four-wheeler. Adela says he
looked ill, though I don't see how she discovered so much.
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