Buckland could not be quite himself.  The consciousness that he had sought these people not at all for their own sake made him formal and dry; his glances, his half-smile, indicated a doubt whether the Moxeys belonged entirely to the sphere in which he was at home.  Hence a rather excessive politeness, such as the man who sets much store on breeding exhibits to those who may at any moment, even in a fraction of a syllable, prove themselves his inferiors.  With men and women of the unmistakably lower orders, Buckland could converse in a genial tone that recommended him to their esteem; on the borderland of refinement, his sympathies were repressed, and he held the distinctive part of his mind in reserve.

Marcella desired to talk agreeably, but a weight lay upon her tongue; she was struck with the resemblance in Warricombe’s features to those of his sister, and this held her in a troubled preoccupation, occasionally evident when she made a reply, or tried to diversify the talk by leading to a new topic.  It was rather early in the afternoon, and she had slight hope that any other caller would appear; a female face would have been welcome to her, even that of foolish Mrs. Morton, who might possibly look in before six o’clock.  To her relief the door did presently open, but the sharp, creaking footstep which followed was no lady’s; the servant announced Mr. Malkin.

Marcella’s eyes gleamed strangely.  Not with the light of friendly welcome, though for that it could be mistaken.  She rose quietly, and stepped forward with a movement which again seemed to betoken eagerness of greeting.  In presenting the newcomer to Mr. Warricombe, she spoke with an uncertain voice.  Buckland was more than formal.  The stranger’s aspect impressed him far from favourably, and he resented as an impudence the hearty hand-grip to which he perforce submitted.

‘I come to plead with you,’ exclaimed Malkin, turning to Marcella, in his abrupt, excited way.  ’After accepting your invitation to dine, I find that the thing is utterly and absolutely impossible.  I had entirely forgotten an engagement of the very gravest nature.  I am conscious of behaving in quite an unpardonable way.’

Marcella laughed down his excuses.  She had suddenly become so mirthful that Christian looked at her in surprise, imagining that she was unable to restrain her sense of the ridiculous in Malkin’s demeanour.

‘I have hurried up from Wrotham,’ pursued the apologist.  ’Did I tell you, Moxey, that I had taken rooms down there, to be able to spend a day or two near my friends the Jacoxes occasionally?  On the way here, I looked in at Staple Inn, but Earwaker is away somewhere.  What an odd thing that people will go off without letting one know!  It’s such common ill-luck of mine to find people gone away—­I’m really astonished to find you at home, Miss Moxey.’

Marcella looked at Warricombe and laughed.

‘You must understand that subjectively,’ she said, with nervous gaiety which again excited her brother’s surprise.  ’Please don’t be discouraged by it from coming to see us again; I am very rarely out in the afternoon.’