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LXXXVII

en days later Thorpe Athelny was well enough to leave
Tthe hospital. He gave Philip his address, and Philip
promised to dine with him at one o’clock on the follow-
ing Sunday. Athelny had told him that he lived in a house
built by Inigo Jones; he had raved, as he raved over every-
thing, over the balustrade of old oak; and when he came
down to open the door for Philip he made him at once ad-
mire the elegant carving of the lintel. It was a shabby house,
badly needing a coat of paint, but with the dignity of its
period, in a little street between Chancery Lane and Hol-
born, which had once been fashionable but was now little
better than a slum: there was a plan to pull it down in order
to put up handsome offices; meanwhile the rents were small,
and Athelny was able to get the two upper floors at a price
which suited his income. Philip had not seen him up before
and was surprised at his small size; he was not more than
five feet and five inches high. He was dressed fantastically
in blue linen trousers of the sort worn by working men in
France, and a very old brown velvet coat; he wore a bright
red sash round his waist, a low collar, and for tie a flowing
bow of the kind used by the comic Frenchman in the pag-
es of Punch. He greeted Philip with enthusiasm. He began
talking at once of the house and passed his hand lovingly
over the balusters.