There came a knock at the door, and she opened it to an old man with a frame so attenuated that it appeared to be absolutely fleshless.

His hair was white and almost touching his shoulders, and his face so colourless and immobile that it looked as if it were composed of wax; but the dark eyes under the white, shaggy brows were full of life, and piercing.
"Oh, good evening, Mr.Clendon!" said Celia, in the tone a woman uses when she is really pleased, and not affecting to be pleased, at the advent of a visitor.

"Come in." "Thank you, Miss Grant," said the old man, in a peculiar voice that was quite low and yet strangely vibrant, like the note of a muted violin.

"I have come to ask you if you could oblige me with a couple of pieces of sugar.

I have run out, and somehow--one has one's foolish weaknesses--I dislike my tea without sugar." "Why of course," said Celia, with a touch of eagerness.