And the invitation had been of the correct, most ample length; it had had time to wind itself about Rachel's nerves.
Mr.Venables, who of course did take her in, by no means belied her husband's description of him; he was a rotund man with a high complexion, and his bulging eye was on the menu before his soft body had sunk into his chair.

His conversation proved limited, but strictly to the point; he told Rachel what to eat, and once or twice what to avoid; lavished impersonal praise upon one dish, impartial criticisms upon another, and only spoke between the courses.

It was a large dinner-party; twenty-two sat down.

Rachel was at last driven to glancing at the other twenty.
To the man on her left she had not been introduced, but he had offered one or two civil observations while Mr.Venables was better engaged; and, after the second, Rachel had chanced to catch sight of the card upon which his name had been inscribed.

He was, it seemed, a Mr.
Langholm; and all at once Rachel leant back and looked at him.