Then Carter came in with quick step; he wore a heavy ulster of the latest fashion, new gloves, a resplendent silk hat; his cheeks were rosy from the east wind.
'Ha, Reardon! How do?
how do?
Delighted to see you!' 'Are you very busy ?' 'Well, no, not particularly.

A few cheques to sign, and we're just getting out our Christmas appeals.

You remember ?' He laughed gaily.

There was a remarkable freedom from snobbishness in this young man; the fact of Reardon's intellectual superiority had long ago counteracted Carter's social prejudices.
'I should like to have a word with you.' 'Right you are!' They went into a small inner room.

Reardon's pulse beat at fever-rate; his tongue was cleaving to his palate.
'What is it, old man ?' asked the secretary, seating himself and flinging one of his legs over the other.