He has never had
anything but telegrams--three telegrams--that I sent him in America
about a pair of slippers that he had left at our house and that I did
n't know what to do with. Captain Lovelock's slippers are no trifle
to have on one's hands--on one's feet, I suppose I ought to say. For
telegrams the spelling does n't matter; the people at the office correct
it--or if they don't you can put it off on them. I never see anything
nowadays but Gordon's back," she went on, as they took their places at
table--"his noble broad back, as he sits writing his letters. That 's my
principal view of my husband. I think that now we are in Paris I ought
to have a portrait of it by one of the great artists. It would be such a
characteristic pose. I have quite forgotten his face and I don't think I
should know it."
Gordon's face, however, presented itself just at this moment; he came in
quickly, with his countenance flushed with the pleasure of meeting his
old friend again. He had the sun-scorched look of a traveller who has
just crossed the Atlantic, and he smiled at Bernard with his honest
eyes.
"Don't think me a great brute for not being here to receive you," he
said, as he clasped his hand. "I was writing an important letter and I
put it to myself in this way: 'If I interrupt my letter I shall have to
come back and finish it; whereas if I finish it now, I can have all the
rest of the day to spend with him.
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