. Manning think?” said her aunt. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. “Too greasy for me. ” “And for me,” Anna echoed. The service had not proceeded far, when she was greatly disturbed by the entrance of a person who placed himself opposite her, and sought to attract her attention by a number of little arts, surveying her, as he did so, with a very impudent and offensive stare.
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