"Mr. Deacon Quelch," murmured Drewitt, in a low voice.
Beresford nodded, and they entered just behind Mr. Quelch.
As they waited while their names were taken up, Beresford and Drewitt sat watching the figure of their fellow-guest. He was a curiously furtive-looking creature, rather above middle height, with bulgy boots, baggy trousers and a shapeless frock-coat. On his head he wore a top-hat that had worn itself to a frenzy of despair, its glossiness no longer amenable to anything but liquid persuasion. His tie was a voluminous dab of black, and his waistcoat a combination of green and purple, with a broad, black braid border. His cuffs started forward hysterically from the sleeves of his coat, and had obviously to be kept in place by the wrists being carried at a definite angle. He looked hungry and obsequious. Apparently he did not remember Drewitt, as he made no sign of recognition.
A flurry of skirts and a stream of talk announced the arrival of Mrs. Crisp. Lola followed a few paces behind.
"Ah! here you are. All arrived together. Dear Mr. Quelch. How charming of you to come. Lord Drewitt, and Mr. Berry. Lord Drewitt, Mr. Deacon Quelch. You ought to know each other. How stupid of me, you've met." She trailed off into a string of interjections; Drewitt and Beresford turned to greet Lola, and the party walked towards the dining-room.
