He was painfully in earnest, too. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. “Do I understand you then to refuse my offer?” he asked Anna. Before we start, I'll accommodate you with a pair of ruffles. “Kick aht at ‘em!” though, indeed, she went now with Christian meekness, resenting only the thrusting policemen’s hands. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. Now keep still.
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