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Smythe-Caulfield; that he kept his best things for her; that all sorts of people were trying to get at him, and that he trusted her to protect him from invasion; that you had been admitted in order that Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield might have the pleasure of telling you these things. Mary saw that the moment was atrocious; but it didn't matter.
While she contemplated these things the long hand of the white marble tombstone clock moved from the hour to the quarter. She was reading the inscription, in black letters, on the golden plinth: "Presented to Thomas Smythe-Caulfield, Esqr., M.P., by the Council and Teachers of St. Paul's Schools, Durlingham" "Presented" when Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield came in. A foolish, overblown, conceited face.
Grey hair arranged with art and science, curl on curl. Three-cornered eyelids, hutches for small, malevolently watching eyes. A sharp, insolent nose. Fish's mouth peering out above the backward slope of cascading chins. Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield shook hands at a sidelong arm's-length, not looking at you, holding Miss Kendal in her sharp pointed stare. They were Kate and Eleanor: Eleanor and Kate.
Smythe-Caulfield made a large encircling movement towards the door. Something interceptive took place there. As they went back down the black-grey drive between the laurel and arbutus Miss Kendal carried her head higher than ever. "That is the first time in my life, Mary, that I've asked a favour." "You did it for me." "Never mind. We aren't going to mind, are we?
Smythe-Caulfield will manage that. It might have been a little difficult if the Professor had been staying anywhere else. But I know Mrs. Smythe-Caulfield very well. No doubt she's arranged for you to have a long talk with him." "Does she know what I want to see him about?"
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