There were voices outside. 'Arry had opened the door himself, and now he
ushered his acquaintance into the drawing-room. Mr. Keene proved to be a man of
uncertain age - he might be eight-and-twenty, but was more probably ten years
older. He was meagre, and of shrewd visage; he wore a black frock coat - rather
shiny at the back - and his collar was obviously of paper. Incipient baldness
endowed him in appearance with a noble forehead; he carried eye-glasses.
    Whilst 'Arry mumbled a form of introduction, the journalist - so Mr. Keene
described himself - stood in a bowing attitude, one hand to his glasses, seeming
to inspect Richard with extreme yet respectful interest. When he spoke, it was
in a rather mincing way, with interjected murmurs - the involuntary overflow, as
it were, of his deep satisfaction.
    »There are few persons in England whose acquaintance I desire more than that
of Mr. Richard Mutimer; indeed, I may leave the statement unqualified and say at
once that there is no one. I have heard you speak in public, Mr. Mutimer. My
profession has necessarily led me to hear most of our platform orators, and in
one respect you distance them all - in the quality of sincerity. No speaker ever
moved me as you did. I had long been interested in your cause; I had long wished
for time and opportunity to examine into it thoroughly. Your address - I speak
seriously - removed the necessity of further study. I am of your party, Mr.
Mutimer. There is nothing I desire so much as to give and take the hand of
brotherhood.«
    He jerked his hand forward, still preserving his respectful attitude.
Richard gave his own hand carelessly, smiling as a man does who cannot but enjoy
flattery yet has a strong desire to kick the flatterer out of the room.
    »Are you a member of the Union?« he inquired.
    »With pride I profess myself a member. Some day - and that at no remote date
- I may have it in my power to serve the cause materially.« He smiled meaningly.
»The press - you understand?« He spread his fingers to represent wide dominion.
»An ally to whom the columns of the bourgeois press are open - you perceive? It
is the task of my life.«
    »What papers do you write for?« asked Mutimer bluntly.
    »Several, several. Not as yet in a leading capacity. In fact, I am feeling
my way. With ends such as I