“This interesting gentleman,” said Eugene, “is the son⁠—the occasionally rather trying son, for he has his failings⁠—of a lady of my acquaintance. My dear Mortimer⁠— Mr. Dolls.” Eugene had no idea what his name was, knowing the little dressmaker’s to be assumed, but presented him with easy confidence under the first appellation that his associations suggested.

“I gather, my dear Mortimer,” pursued Eugene, as Lightwood stared at the obscene visitor, “from the manner of Mr. Dolls⁠—which is occasionally complicated⁠—that he desires to make some communication to me. I have mentioned to Mr. Dolls that you and I are on terms of confidence, and have requested Mr. Dolls to develop his views here.”

The wretched object being much embarrassed by holding what remained of his hat, Eugene airily tossed it to the door, and put him down in a chair.