eets, all luxury surrounding me, all
squalid poverty kept far from me. Such is _my_ earliest remembrance as
opposed to yours!'"

Mr. Obenreizer was a black-haired young man of a dark complexion, through
whose swarthy skin no red glow ever shone. When colour would have come
into another cheek, a hardly discernible beat would come into his, as if
the machinery for bringing up the ardent blood were there, but the
machinery were dry. He was robustly made, well proportioned, and had
handsome features. Many would have perceived that some surface change in
him would have set them more at their ease with him, without being able
to define what change. If his lips could have been made much thicker,
and his neck much thinner, they would have found their want supplied.

But the great Obenreizer peculiarity was, that a certain nameless film
would come over his eyes--apparently by the action of his own will--which
would impenetrably veil, not only from those tellers of tales, but from
his face at large, every expression save one of attention. It by no
means followed that his attention should be wholly given to the person
with whom he spoke, or even wholly bestowed on present sounds and
objects. Rather, it was a comprehensive watchfulness of everything he
had in his own mind, and everything that he knew to be, or suspected to
be, in the minds of other men.

At this stage of the conversation, Mr. Obenreizer's film came over him.

"The object of my present visit," said Vendale, "is, I need hardly say,
to assure you of the friendliness of Wilding and Co., and of the goodness
of your credit with us, and of our desire to be of service to you. We
hope shortly to offer you our hospitality. Things are not quite in train
with us yet, for my partner, Mr. Wilding, is reorganising the domestic
part of our establishment, and is interrupted by some private affairs.
You don't know Mr. Wilding, I believe?"

Mr. Obenreizer did not.

"You must come together soon. He will be glad to have made your
acquaintance, and I think I may predict that you will be glad to have
made his. You have not been long established in London, I suppose, Mr.
Obenreizer?"

"It is only now that I have undertaken this agency."

"Mademoiselle your niece--is--not married?"

"Not married."

George Vendale glanced about him, as if for any tokens of her.

"She has been in London?"

"She _is_ in London."

"When, and where, might I have the honour of recallin