When his eyes turned to her, their look was unemotional, purely speculative, and in general spoke without looking at her at all.
"It's something about Mr.Wrybolt," Iris began, with a face of distress.

"You know he is my trustee--I told you, didn't I?
I see him very seldom, and we don't take much interest in each other; he's nothing but a man of business, the kind I detest; he can't talk of anything but money and shares and wretched things of that sort.

But you know him you understand." The name of Wrybolt set before Dyce's mind a middle-aged man, red-necked, heavy of eyelid, with a rather punctilious hearing and authoritative mode of speech.

They had met only once, here at Mrs.
Woolstan's house.
"I'm sure I don't know why, but just lately he's begun to make inquiries about Len, and to ask when I meant to send him to school.

Of course I told him that Len was doing very well indeed, and that I didn't see the slightest necessity for making a change at all events just yet.