Drummond nodded. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. I can be that man, the one I know you want. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject.
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