No mention of the little model....
The old butler dwelt on this reticence of Mrs. Hughs, when, two hours
afterwards, in pursuance of his instinctive reliance on the gentry, he
called on Hilary.
The latter, surrounded by books and papers--for, since his dismissal
of the girl, he had worked with great activity--was partaking of lunch,
served to him in his study on a tray.
"There's an old gentleman to see you, sir; he says you know him; his
name is Creed."
"Show him in," said Hilary.
Appearing suddenly from behind the servant in the doorway, the old
butler came in at a stealthy amble; he looked round, and, seeing
a chair, placed his hat beneath it, then advanced, with nose and
spectacles upturned, to Hilary. Catching sight of the tray, he stopped,
checked in an evident desire to communicate his soul.
"Oh dear," he said, "I'm intrudin' on your luncheon. I can wait; I'll go
and sit in the passage."
Hilary, however, shook his hand, faded now to skin and bone, and
motioned him to a chair.
He sat down on the edge of it, and again said:
"I'm intrudin' on yer."
"Not at all. Is there anything I can do?"
Creed took off his spectacles, wiped them to help himself to see more
clearly what he had to say, and put them on again.
"It's a-concerning of these domestic matters," he said.
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