Even more noticeable was the
ageing of his countenance. Something more, however, than the
progress of time seemed to be here at work. He looked strangely
careworn; his forehead was set in lines of anxiety; his mouth
expressed a nervousness of which formerly there had been no trace.
One would have said that some harassing preoccupation must have
seized his mind. His eyes were no longer merely sad and absent, but
restless with fatiguing thought. As Jane entered the room he fixed
his gaze upon her--a gaze that appeared to reveal worrying
apprehension.
'You remember Mr. Percival, Jane,' he said.
The old gentleman thus presented held out his hand with something of
fatherly geniality.
'Miss Snowdon, I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again
before long, but just now I am carrying off your grandfather for a
couple of hours, and indeed we mustn't linger that number of
minutes. You look well, I think?'
He stood and examined her intently, then cried:
'Come, my dear sir, come! we shall be late.'
Snowdon was already prepared for walking. He spoke a few words to
Jane, then followed Mr. Percival downstairs.
Flurried by the encounter, Jane stood looking about her.
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