III
Copper
Mr. Pawley, who looked very comfortable in an easy chair, with a glass of whisky and soda conveniently at hand, smiled upon us as if we were old acquaintances. He was clearly one of those gentlemen who speedily make themselves at home anywhere, and, as it presently appeared, are by no means backward in the art of finding things out. Indeed, he at once began to put leading questions.
"Your daughter, I presume, sir?" he suggested, with a glance at Madrasia.
"Not a bit of it!" answered Parslewe, in his most off-hand manner. "My ward."
"Dear me, sir! now I could have thought that I saw a distinct family resemblance," said Mr. Pawley. "This young gentleman, perhaps———"
"Visitor of mine," replied Parslewe. "Mr. Craye—a well-known artist."
