or green, no dado, no
distemper on the walls; the woodwork was grained and varnished after the
manner of the Philistines, the walls papered in dark crimson, with heavy
curtains of the same colour, and the sideboard, dinner-waggon, and row
of stiff chairs were all carved in the same massive and expensive style
of ugliness. The pictures were those familiar presentments of dirty
rabbis, fat white horses, bloated goddesses, and misshapen boors, by
masters who, if younger than they assume to be, must have been quite old
enough to know better.

Mr. Bultitude was a tall and portly person, of a somewhat pompous and
overbearing demeanour; not much over fifty, but looking considerably
older. He had a high shining head, from which the hair had mostly
departed, what little still remained being of a grizzled auburn,
prominent pale blue eyes with heavy eyelids and fierce, bushy
whitey-brown eyebrows. His general expression suggested a conviction of
his own extreme importance, but, in spite of this, his big underlip
drooped rather weakly and his double chin slightly receded, giving a
judge of character reason for suspecting that a certain obstinate
positiveness observable in Mr. Bultitude's manner might possibly be due
less to the possession of an unusually strong will than to the
circumstance that, by some fortunate chance, that will had hitherto
never met with serious opposition.

The room, with all its aesthetic shortcomings, was comfortable enough,
and Mr. Bultitude's attitude--he was lying back in a well-wadded leather
arm-chair, with a glass of claret at his elbow and his feet stretched
out towards the ruddy blaze of the fire--seemed at first sight to imply
that happy after-dinner condition of perfect satisfaction with oneself
and things in general, which is the natural outcome of a good cook, a
good conscience, and a good digestion.

At first sight; because his face did not confirm the impression--there
was a latent uneasiness in it, an air of suppressed irritation, as if he
expected and even dreaded to be disturbed at any moment, and yet was
powerless to resent the intrusion as he would like to do.

At the slightest sound in the hall outside he would half rise in his
chair and glance at the door with a mixture of alarm and resignation,
and as often as the steps died away and the door remained closed, he
would sink back and resettle himself with a shrug of evident relief.

Habitual novel readers on reading thus far will,