He had a way of pursing his lips and glaring through his spectacles when he read that gave him a look of preternatural wisdom. He was never what Deena's cook called "a pretty man." Mrs.

Ponsonby's slim figure slid through the opening without pushing the door wide, and spoke with a kind of reckless gayety. "Good-evening, Simeon," she said, making a little courtesy; "you see, I have returned safely, 'clothed and in my right mind.'" He made a marginal note of cabalistic import before he swung round in his chair and looked at her over his spectacles.

"Hardly in your right mind, I should think," he said, coldly. "Don't you like me in my new clothes?" she asked, twirling slowly round to give him the entire effect of her costume. He was apt to be irritable when disturbed at his work, and Deena had not attached much importance to his speech.