He rapped lightly on the door of the secretary's room.
"Come in." Cathewe did so, gently closing the door behind him.

Breitmann was in his shirt-sleeves.

He rose from his chair and laid down his cigarette.
A faint smile broke the thin line of his mouth.

He waited for his guest, or, rather, this intruder, to break the silence.

And as Cathewe did not speak at once, there was a tableau during which each was speculatively busy with the eyes.
"The vicissitudes of time," said Cathewe, "have left no distinguishable marks upon you." Breitmann bowed.