ldly, "here I am."
"Ah, I thought it was you. Always tell a military man, you know.
Excuse me, but I am resting for a minute, this last pull is an
uncommonly stiff one. I always used to tell my dear old friend, Mrs.
Massey, that she ought to have the hill cut away a bit just here.
Well, here goes for it," and after a few heavy steps his visitor
emerged from the shadow of the trees into the sunset light which was
playing on the terrace before the house.
Colonel Quaritch glanced up curiously to see who the owner of the
great voice might be, and his eyes lit upon as fine a specimen of
humanity as he had seen for a long while. The man was old, as his
white hair showed, seventy perhaps, but that was the only sign of
decay about him. He was a splendid man, broad and thick and strong,
with a keen, quick eye, and a face sharply chiselled, and clean
shaved, of the stamp which in novels is generally known as
aristocratic, a face, in fact, that showed both birth and breeding.
Indeed, as clothed in loose tweed garments and a gigantic pair of top
boots, his visitor stood leaning on his long stick and resting himself
after facing the hill, Harold Quaritch thought that he had never seen
a more perfect specimen of the typical English country gentleman--as
the English country gentleman used to be.
"How do you do, sir, how do you do--my name is de la Molle. My man
George, who knows everybody's business except his own, told me that
you had arrived here, so I thought I would walk round and do myself
the honour of making your acquaintance."
"That is very kind of you," said the Colonel.
"Not at all. If you only knew how uncommonly dull it is down in these
parts you would not say that. The place isn't what it used to be when
I was a boy. There are plenty of rich people about, but they are not
the same stamp of people. It isn't what it used to be in more ways
than one," and the old Squire gave something like a sigh, and
thoughtfully removed his white hat, out of which a dinner napkin and
two pocket-handkerchiefs fell to the ground, in a fashion that
reminded Colonel Quaritch of the climax of a conjuring trick.
"You have dropped some--some linen," he said, stooping down to pick
the mysterious articles up.
"Oh, yes, thank you," answered his visitor, "I find the sun a little
hot at this time of the year. There is nothing like a few
handkerchiefs or a towel to keep it off," and he rolled the mass of
napery into a ball, and cramming
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