Had
he long iron-grey hair, and was he dressed--dressed, like a--like a
shiny Quaker?' So full was my mind of Mrs. Gudgeon's story that I was
positively using her language.
'Like a what?' exclaimed Winnie. 'Really, Henry, you have become very
eccentric since our parting. The gentleman had not iron-grey hair,
and he was not dressed in the least like a Quaker, unless a loose,
brown lounge coat tossed on anyhow over a waistcoat and trousers of
the same colour is the costume of a shiny Quaker. But it was the room
you asked me to describe. There were pictures on the walls, and there
were two easels, and on one of them I saw a picture. The gentleman
led me to a strange and very beautiful piece of furniture. If I
attempted to describe it I should call it a divan, under a gorgeous
kind of awning ornamented with Chinese figures in ivory and precious
stones. Now, isn't it exactly like an _Arabian Nights_ story, Henry?'
'Yes, yes, Winnie; but pray go on. What did the gentleman do?'
'He drew a chair towards me, and without speaking looked into my face
again.
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