He seemed pleased to find that I remembered very little of what I ought to have noticed on the way.

It gave him an opportunity for the display of his local erudition.
"A--remarkable woman--used--to--live--in--the--cottage--next--the--mill--at--Stelling," he said; "she was the original of Kate Wingfield." "In your 'Boldero ?'" the chorus chorussed.
Remembrance of the common at Stelling--of the glimmering white faces of the shadowy cottages--was like a cold waft of mist to me.

I forgot to say "Indeed!" "She was--a very--remarkable--woman--She----" I found myself wondering which was real; the common with its misty hedges and the blurred moon; or this room with its ranks of uniformly bound books and its bust of the great man that threw a portentous shadow upward from its pedestal behind the lamp.
Before I had entirely recovered myself, the notables were departing to catch the last train.

I was left alone with Callan.
He did not trouble to resume his attitude for me, and when he did speak, spoke faster.
"Interesting man, Mr.Jinks ?" he said; "you recognised him ?" "No," I said; "I don't think I ever met him." Callan looked annoyed.
"I thought I'd got him pretty well.

He's Hector Steele.