A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere a little trying. And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's reluctant refusal--Quite so! One could not indefinitely extend one's subscriptions even for the best of causes!--he said gently:
"By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?"The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes. Joe Pillin's face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he opened his thin lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something seemed to pass with difficulty down his scraggy throat. The hollows, which nerve exhaustion delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones are not high, increased alarmingly. For a moment he looked deathly;then, moistening his lips, he said:
"Larne--Larne? No, I don't seem---"
Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves, murmured:
"Oh! I thought--your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's,"and he looked up.
Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then with more and more vigour:
"I'm in very poor health," he said, at last. "I'm getting abroad at once. This cold's killing me. What name did you say?" And he remained with his handkerchief against his teeth.
Mr. Ventnor repeated:
"Larne. Writes stories."
Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief "Ali! H'm! No--I--no! My son knows all sorts of people. I shall have to try Mentone. Are you going? Good-bye! Good-bye! I'm sorry;ah! ha! My cough--ah! ha h'h'm! Very distressing. Ye-hes! My cough-ah! ha h'h'm! Most distressing. Ye-hes!"Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air.