Edgar Wallace

“ A directory had told him all that he wanted to know about the Gresham School. “You succeeded Tyler,” the humbug had said, and poor Mr Willock had imagined that his Presidency was world-famous!
She came down to the drawing-room three minutes before dinner and found a new-comer. She remembered with annoyance that this was the night that her father had invited Lord Pinlow to dinner.
He was standing with his back to the fire as she came in.
“How do, Miss Callander; hope I’m not keepin’ the fire from you; these June nights can be jolly chilly.” ”

“ He is a stickler for punctuality——”
“Quite right, so am I,” agreed the young man, “though punctuality is the thief of time. Think of the time one wastes turning up to meet a chap whose watch is ten minutes slow. But I couldn’t help being late for dinner.”
Gladys stirred her soup, taking no advantage of the unspoken invitation to question him further. ”

“ He stopped. “May I ask why you thus upbraid me?” he demanded sternly.
“You come here talking like a Christy’s catalogue,” she said, “with a Directory of British Art Schools in one pocket and a little handbook on the pre-Raphaelite painters in the other.”
“Why not?” he asked, unashamed.
“Until this morning you never heard of the pre-Raphaelites, and were ignorant of the existence of the Gresham Art School. You swotted them up in the train.” ”

“ Brian went on enthusiastically, “that has rendered no small service to the country. Its work in connection with the purchase of the Morby Valasquez will, I think, be remembered for some time.”
“Really,” murmured Horace in his sister’s ear, “this chap is a great deal smarter than we gave him credit for. Really——”
She made no reply. Her cousin’s easy progress was fascinating. Nor was Horace the only one affected by this presentable young man. Mr Callander senior found his feelings undergoing revolution. ”