His hand strayed in the
direction of a quince-coloured satin coat; but he chose instead a
commonplace, dun affair with pewter buttons, and carelessly settled his
shoulders in an unremarkable waistcoat. Then, although he could hear a
concerted stir of voices below that announced impending supper, he
slipped into a chair for half a pipe. He was indifferent, not diffident,
and there was no hesitation in the manner in which he finally approached
the company seated at supper. His place was, as usual, at his mother's
side; but opposite him where Myrtle usually sat was a rigid, high
shouldered man in mulberry and silver, jewelled buckles, and a full,
powdered wig. He had thin, dark cheeks, a heavy nose above a firm mouth
with a satirical droop, and small, unpleasantly penetrating eyes. An
expression of general malice was, however, corrected by a high and
serene brow.
"Mr. Winscombe," Howat Penny's mother said, "my son." The former bowed
with formal civility, but gave a baffling effect of mockery which,
Howat discovered, enveloped practically every movement and speech. He
was, he said, enchanted to meet Mr. Penny; and that extravagant
expression, delivered in a slightly harsh, negligent voice, heightened
the impression of a personality strong and cold; a being as obdurate as
an iron bar masquerading in coloured satin and formulating pretty
phrases like the sheen on the surface of a deep November pool.
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