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Updated: September 7, 2025
However, he might have been in hodden gray without her perceiving it. She had the sensation of having plunged into deep, unknown waters, without rope or plank, and being absolutely forced to strike out for herself; yet the very urgency of the moment, acting on her high blood and recent training, made her, outwardly, perfectly self-possessed and calm.
There was a long stripe of a deal, table in the middle of the room but no tablecloth at the bottom of which sat a large, bloated, brandy, or rather whisky faced savage, dressed in a shabby great coat of the hodden grey worn by the Irish peasantry, dirty swan down vest, and greasy corduroy breeches, worsted stockings, and well patched shoes; he was smoking a long pipe.
And, now that I have begun, I also apologise for all the flippant things I have said during the voyage, and for my frightful mendacity to poor Mr. Hodden, who sits there so patiently and picturesquely waiting for the terrible reporters. Won't you forgive me?" Buel was not a ready man, and he hesitated just the smallest fraction of a second too long.
She no longer wore a skirt of beautiful green, but a long robe of hodden grey covered her from head to foot. The light, bright as the summer sun that had shone around her, faded, and her face grew pale and thin. Her eyes no longer danced for joy, they gazed dull and dim before her. And on one side of her head the long black hair had changed to grey.
"I have brought you," said the novelist, "another volume." "Oh, thank you," cried Miss Duplicity, with unnecessary emphasis on the middle word. "It has been considered," continued Mr. Hodden, "by those whose opinions are thought highly of in London, to be perhaps my most successful work.
I may add that if the purser has a vacant berth anywhere, I shall be very glad to take it, if the occupants of the room make no objection." "You are very kind," said Hodden, but he did not make any show of declining the offer. "Very well, then, let us settle the matter while we are at it." And Buel pressed the electric button. The steward looked in, saying, "Dinner is ready, gentlemen."
There was not, indeed, in the whole burgh at the time, a person of such a flexible easy nature as Mr Hodden; and his neighbour, Mr Fegs, was even better, for he was so good-tempered, and kindly, and complying, that the very callants at the grammar school had nicknamed him Barley-sugar Pate.
Lennox said afterward that she thought there was something very peculiar about Miss Sommerton's smile in reply to her remark. Now, when each man's place in literature is so clearly defined, it seems ridiculous to state that there was a time when Kenan Buel thought J. Lawless Hodden a great novelist.
All this time he had utterly ignored Buel, whose colour was rising. The young man said quietly to the steward, "Take out the portmanteau, please." When it was placed in the passage, Hodden entered the room, shut and bolted the door. "Will you see the purser, sir?" said the steward in an awed whisper. "I think so. There is doubtless some mistake, as he says."
As the Americans say, some people want the earth for L12 or L15, and we can't always give it to them. Ah, here is the ticket. It is just as I thought. Mr. Hodden is entitled merely to berth 160." The arrival of the ticket was quickly followed by the advent of Mr. Hodden himself. He still ignored Buel. "Your people in London," he said to the purser, "guaranteed me a room to myself.
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