At half-past six a loud knock at the front door announced the expected visitor.  Alice turned from the piano, and looked at her brother apprehensively.  Richard rose, and established himself on the hearthrug, his hands behind him.

‘What are you going to say to him, Dick?’ Alice asked hurriedly.

‘He says he wants to know me.  I shall say, “Here I am."’

There were voices outside.  ’Arry had opened the door himself, and now he ushered his acquaintance into the drawing-room.  Mr. Keene proved to be a man of uncertain age—­he might be eight-and-twenty, but was more probably ten years older.  He was meagre, and of shrewd visage; he wore a black frock coat—­rather shiny at the back—­and his collar was obviously of paper.  Incipient baldness endowed him in appearance with a noble forehead; he carried eye-glasses.

Whilst ’Arry mumbled a form of introduction, the journalist—­so Mr. Keene described himself—­stood in a bowing attitude, one hand to his glasses, seeming to inspect Richard with extreme yet respectful interest.  When he spoke, it was in a rather mincing way, with interjected murmurs—­the involuntary overflow, as it were, of his deep satisfaction.

’There are few persons in England whose acquaintance I desire more than that of Mr. Richard Mutimer; indeed, I may leave the statement unqualified and say at once that there is no one.  I have heard you speak in public, Mr. Mutimer.  My profession has necessarily led me to hear most of our platform orators, and in one respect you distance them all—­in the quality of sincerity.  No speaker ever moved me as you did.  I had long been interested in your cause; I had long wished for time and opportunity to examine into it thoroughly.  Your address—­I speak seriously—­removed the necessity of further study.  I am of your party, Mr. Mutimer.  There is nothing I desire so much as to give and take the hand of brotherhood.’

He jerked his hand forward, still preserving his respectful attitude.  Richard gave his own hand carelessly, smiling as a man does who cannot but enjoy flattery yet has a strong desire to kick the flatterer out of the room.

‘Are you a member of the Union?’ he inquired.

’With pride I profess myself a member.  Some day—­and that at no remote date—­I may have it in my power to serve the cause materially.’  He smiled meaningly.  ‘The press—­you understand?’ He spread his fingers to represent wide dominion.  ’An ally to whom the columns of the bourgeois press are open—­you perceive?  It is the task of my life.’

‘What papers do you write for?’ asked Mutimer bluntly.

’Several, several.  Not as yet in a leading capacity.  In fact, I am feeling my way.  With ends such as I propose to myself it won’t do to stand committed to any formal creed in politics.  Politics, indeed!  Ha, ha!’

He laughed scornfully.  Then, turning to Alice—­

’You will forgive me, I am sure, Miss Mutimer, that I address myself first to your brother—­I had almost said your illustrious brother.  To be confessed illustrious some day, depend upon it.  I trust you are well?’