Then that lady thickened the mystery. She seemed very familiar with the
man Severne had been so familiar with.
That man contributed his share to the multiplying mystery. He had a muddy
complexion, hair the color of dirt, a long nose, a hatchet face, mean
little eyes, and was evidently not a gentleman. He wore a brown velveteen
shooting-coat, with a magenta tie that gave Zoe a pain in the eye. She
had already felt sorry to see her Severne was acquainted with such a man.
He seemed to her the _ne plus ultra_ of vulgarity; and now, behold, the
artist, the woman she had so admired, was equally familiar with the same
objectionable person.
To appreciate the hopeless puzzle of Zoe Vizard, the reader must be on
his guard against his own knowledge. He knows that Severne and Ashmead
were two Bohemians, who had struck up acquaintance, all in a minute, that
very evening. But Zoe had not this knowledge, and she could not possibly
divine it. The whole thing was presented to her senses thus: a vulgar
man, with a brown velveteen shooting-coat and a red-hot tie was a mutual
friend of the gentlemanly Severne and the dignified Klosking. Severne
left the mutual friend; Mademoiselle Klosking joined the mutual friend;
and there she sat, where Severne had sat a moment ago, by the side of
their mutual friend.
Pages:
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203