"You're too selfish--too sickening." "Oh dear, dear!" he wonderingly whistled while he wandered back to the hearth-rug, on which, with his hands behind him, he lingered a while.
He was small and had a slight stoop which somehow gave him character--character of the insidious sort carried out in the acuteness, difficult to trace to a source, of his smooth fair face, where the lines were all curves and the expression all needles.

He had the voice of a man of forty and was dressed--as if markedly not for London--with an air of experience that seemed to match it.

He pulled down his waistcoat, smoothing himself, feeling his neat hair and looking at his shoes.
"I took your five pounds.

Also two of the sovereigns," he went on.

"I left you two pound ten." His mother jerked up her head at this, facing him in dismay, and, immediately on her feet, passed back to the secretary.