He rubbed his nose, as he
talked, with the back of his hand, and made sudden little darts at the
chalk on his trousers, as though he would brush it off. He had the face
of an innocent baby, and when he spoke he looked at his companion with
exactly the gaze of trusting confidence that a child bestows upon its
elders.
"I hope you will forgive me," said Seymour, smiling; "I've come, too, at
such an awkward time, but the truth is I simply couldn't help myself. I
ought, besides, to catch the four o'clock train back to Polchester."
"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Trenchard, smiling, rubbing his hands together,
and altogether in the dark as to what his visitor might be wanting.
"Ah, but I haven't explained; how stupid of me! My name is Seymour. I
was here during several years, as a small boy, with Canon Lasher--in my
holidays, you know. It's years ago, and I've never been back. I was at
Polchester this morning and suddenly felt that I must come over. I
wondered whether you'd be so good as to let me look a little at the
house and garden."
There was nothing that Mr. Trenchard would like better.
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