Wolf walked to the place where his coat had been laid down by the manservant, and after he had put it on, and picked up his hat and stick, he turned to his host, who kept uttering meaningless monosyllables in a silky, propitiatory whisper, as if he were ushering out a madman or a policeman; and asked him point-blank who this ill-advised predecessor of his was, turning as he did so the handle of the front-door. The question seemed to disturb Mr. Urquhart’s mental equanimity, as much as the chilly March wind that blew in with a gust when the door was opened, disturbed his physical balance.

“Eh? What? What’s that? Didn’t Darnley tell you? The boy ruined my History at the start. I had to tear up every scrap. He dropped it and went⁠—all in a minute. Eh? What? Didn’t Darnley tell you? He left it in chaos. He played hopscotch with it!”

Struggling with the heavy door and the gusty wind, Solent muttered a propitiatory reply.