built. His face is almost mahogany-colored, and is peculiarly expressionless. He

has gray eyes that give the impression of always watching something that is

happening very far away. He talks little, and what he does say is said jerkily,

as though the words were forced out of him unwillingly.

 

He said now: “How are you, Sheppard?” in his usual abrupt fashion, and then

stood squarely in front of the fireplace looking over our heads as though he saw

something very interesting happening in Timbuctoo.

 

“Major Blunt,” said Flora, “I wish you’d tell me about these African things. I’m

sure you know what they all are.”

 

I have heard Hector Blunt described as a woman hater, but I noticed that he

joined Flora at the silver table with what might be described as alacrity. They

bent over it together.

 

I was afraid Mrs. Ackroyd would begin talking about settlements again, so I made

a few hurried remarks about the new sweet pea. I knew there was a new sweet pea

because the _Daily Mail_ had told me so that morning. Mrs. Ackroyd knows nothing

about horticulture, but she is the kind of woman who likes to appear

well-informed about the topics of the day, and she, too, reads the _Daily Mail_.

We were able to converse quite intelligently until Ackroyd and his secretary

joined us, and immediately afterwards Parker announced dinner.

 

My place at table was between Mrs. Ackroyd and Flora. Blunt was on Mrs.