about twenty-five, rather over than
under middle height, of good figure, and becomingly dressed. His
features were good enough, but lacked individuality, as did his combined
moustache and side whiskers, that formed a sort of imperfect W across
his face. He held his nose well up in the air, spoke what, in his
ignorance, he fondly imagined to be aristocratic English, and carried,
with an apologetic and depressed air, a small Gladstone bag. The
newcomer dusted his trouser legs with a cane utterly useless for walking
purposes; then, adjusting his eye-glass, he elevated it towards the
solitary occupant of the garden, as he entered the gate. "Haw, you sir,"
he called out to him; "is this, haw, Mr. Corrothers' plaice?" Coristine
was nettled at the style of address, but commanded himself to reply as
briefly as possible that it was. "Miss Morjorie Cormichael stoying
here?" continued the stage passenger. "Miss Carmichael is here,"
responded the lawyer. "Haw, I thort so. Just you run in now, will you,
ond tell Miss Morjorie thot on old friend wonts to speak to her." The
lawyer was getting furious, in spite of himself. Taking his pipe out of
his pocket, and proceeding to fill it with all apparent deliberation and
calmness, he replied: "So far as I have the honour of Miss Carmichael's
acquaintance, she is not in the habit of receiving visitors out of
doors. There are both bell and knocker on the door before you, which
servants will probably answer; but, if that door doesn't suit you, you
will probably find others at the back." With this ungracious speech, he
turned on his heel, lit his pipe, and puffed vigorously along the path
towards the meadow gate. Then, he strolled down the hill and met the
returning fishers, the two youngest in Mr. Bigglethorpe's arms, and with
their arms about his neck. Coristine indulged in a kissing bee with the
rest of them, so as to assure himself that he was the true old friend,
the genuine Codlin, while the other man was Short. "Marjorie," he said,
as that fishing young lady clung to him, "there's a duffer of a dude,
with an eye-glass, up at the house, who says he's an old friend of your
cousin Marjorie; do you know any old friend of hers?" Marjorie stopped
to think, and, after a little pause, said: "It can't be Huggins." "Who
is Huggins, Marjorie?" asked the lawyer. "He's the caretaker of
Marjorie's school."

"Oh no, this dude is too young and gorgeous for a caretaker."

"Then, I think I know; its Ort