Mr.Enville shook hands very amicably with George Cannon, and instantly departed.

As he passed down the stairs she caught sight of him; he was a grizzled man of fifty, lean and shabby, despite his reputation for riches.

She knew that he was a candidate for the supreme position of Chief Bailiff at the end of the year, and he did not accord with her spectacular ideal of a Chief Bailiff; the actual Chief Bailiff was a beautiful and picturesque old man, with perfectly tended white whiskers, and always a flower in his coat.

Further, she could not reconcile this nearly effusive friendliness between Mr.Enville and Mr.Cannon with the animadversions of the leading article which Arthur Dayson had composed, and Mr.Cannon had approved, only twenty-four hours earlier.
As Mr.Cannon shut the door at the head of the stairs, she saw him give a discreet, disdainful wink to Dayson.

Then he turned sharply to Hilda, and said, thoughtful and stern: "Your notebook, please." Bracing herself, and still full of pride in her ability to write this mysterious shorthand, she opened her notebook, and waited with poised pencil.