"Here is my brother," said Mrs. Harold Smith, showing by the
tremulousness of the whisper that she looked forward to the meeting
with some amount of apprehension.
"How do you do, Mr. Sowerby?" said Miss Dunstable, walking almost
into the doorway to welcome him. "Better late than never."
"I have only just got away from the House," said he, as he gave her
his hand.
"Oh, I know well that you are _sans reproche_ among senators--as Mr.
Harold Smith is _sans peur_;--eh, my dear?"
"I must confess that you have contrived to be uncommonly severe upon
them both," said Mrs. Harold, laughing; "and as regards poor Harold,
most undeservedly so: Nathaniel is here, and may defend himself."
"And no one is better able to do so on all occasions. But, my dear
Mr. Sowerby, I am dying of despair. Do you think he'll come?"
"He? who?"
"You stupid man--as if there were more than one he! There were two,
but the other has been."
"Upon my word, I don't understand," said Mr. Sowerby, now again at
his ease. "But can I do anything? shall I go and fetch anyone? Oh,
Tom Towers; I fear I can't help you. But here he is at the foot of
the stairs!" And then Mr. Sowerby stood back with his sister to make
way for the great representative man of the age.
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