His nose was short and flat, yet somehow not ignoble; his full
lips, bare of moustache, tended to suggest a melancholy fretfulness. But
for the high forehead, no casual observer would have cared to look at him a
second time; but that upper story made the whole countenance vivid with
intellect, as though a light beamed upon it from above.
'You hypercritical beggar!' cried Harvey, turning with the volume in his
hand. 'Is this how you treat the glorious works of your contemporaries?'
Shergold reddened and was mute.
'I shall take this away with me,' pursued the other, laughing. 'It'll be
worth a little study.'
'My dear fellow--you won't take it ill of me--I didn't really mean it as a
criticism,' the deep, musical voice stammered in serious embarrassment.
'Why, wasn't it just this kind of thing that caused a quarrel between
George Sand and Musset?'
'Yes, yes; but George Sand was such a peremptory fellow, and Musset such a
vapourish young person. Look! I'll show you what I meant.'
'Thanks,' said Munden, 'I can find that out for myself.' He thrust the book
into his coat-pocket. 'I came to ask you if you are aware of your uncle's
condition.'
'Of course I am.
'When did you see him last?'
'See him?' Shergold's eyes wandered vaguely.
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