I arose to greet him.
"This is--" I had to glance at the card.
"Yes--and you're Major Blake?
I regret to disturb you, Major,"-- here his glance rested blankly upon the rich golden-brown surface of Clem's omelette, and it seemed to me that the thread of his intention was broken for an instant by a fit of absentmindedness.

He resumed his speech only after an appreciable pause, as if the omelette had reminded him of something.
"The hour is untimely, but I'm told that you're a friend of a Mrs.
Lansdale, who has some pieces of Colonial furniture she wishes to let go.

I wondered, you know, if you'd be good enough to introduce me.

I rather thought some such formality might be advisable--I understand that a shark named Cohen has already approached her." Even as he spoke I recalled that Mr.Cohen's face, in profile, might provoke the vision of a shark to a person of lively imagination.
"I shall be glad," I said, "to present you to Mrs.Lansdale." Again had my caller's glance trailed across the breakfast table, where the omelette, the muffins, and the coffee-urn waited.

The glance was politely unnoting, but in it there yet lurked, far back, the unmistakable quality of a caress.