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Updated: May 15, 2025
Tulliver was in his little den at the back of the shop, and emerged with his usual rapidity at the ringing of the door-bell. "O, it's you, is it, sir?" he asked in an indifferent, half-insolent tone. "What can I do for you this evening?" "Is your late master's granddaughter, Mrs. Holbrook, here?" Gilbert asked. "No; Mrs. Holbrook went away on the morning after my master's death.
Good night, my friend," she added, turning suddenly around. He held her hand for a moment as they stood together on the pavement outside her hotel. For a single moment he fancied that there was a change in that curious personal aloofness which seemed so distinctive of her. It passed, however, as she turned from him with her usual half-insolent, half gracious little nod.
An idea had flashed through his mind as he looked at Krevin Crood in the broken man's brief interchange of remarks with the half-insolent tradesman: an idea which he had been careful not to mention to Peppermore.
On the somewhat slack lip was a slight twist, not agreeable, which the well-kept mustache could not conceal. Still it was an interesting face, clever, assured, half-insolent. To Varney, it was exceptionally interesting; for removing the mustache and eye-glasses, it might have passed anywhere for his own. Below the portrait was printed this legend: FERRIS STANHOPE.
The long pennants, like captured rainbows, tacked to the rough walls, the soft toned prints, the gay cushions, all these lent an air of permanence, of home, that she had never before seen in a man's cabin. She stood and looked all around with that same half-insolent stare which had greeted Kenset at the Holding that memorable day.
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