Horton had a loyal nature. However he might disapprove of his employers, he rarely hesitated to obey their commands. With the expression of one who picks a half-drowned fly out of a glass of milk and leaves it on the tablecloth to recover itself, he delivered Julian to Mrs. Barton and retired to tell the staff what he thought of Miss Alice’s young man.
Julian was in his usual professional garb of dirty grey trousers, an old tweed coat, a bright blue shirt and an orange pullover. Partly owing to shyness, partly to defiance, he was still carrying a bundle of canvases under his right arm, and in his left hand held a bag of painting materials.
‘I’m afraid I can’t shake hands,’ he said.
That would learn Alice’s mother what to expect.
‘Of course you can’t with all those things in your hands,
