"
The residential part of Falmouth rises in neat terraces above the
waterside, and of these Delamere Terrace was by no means the least
respectable. The brass doorplate of No. 7--"Copenhagen Academy for
the Sons of Gentlemen. Principal, the Rev. Philip Stimcoe, B.A.
(Oxon.)"--shone immaculate; and its window-blinds did Mrs. Stimcoe
credit, as Miss Plinlimmon remarked before ringing the bell.
Mrs. Stimcoe herself opened the door to us, in a full lace cap and a
maroon-coloured gown of state. She was a gaunt, hard-eyed woman,
tall as a grenadier, remarkable for a long upper lip decorated with
two moles. She excused her condescension on the ground that the
butler was out, taking the pupils for a walk; and conducted us to the
parlour, where Mr. Stimcoe sat in an atmosphere which smelt faintly
of sherry.
Mr. Stimcoe rose and greeted us with a shaky hand. He was a thin,
spectacled man, with a pendulous nose and cheeks disfigured by a
purplish cutaneous disorder (which his wife, later on, attributed to
his having slept between damp sheets while the honoured guest of a
nobleman, whose name I forget). He wore a seedy clerical suit.
While shaking hands he observed that I was taller than he had
expected; and this, absurdly enough, is all I remember of the
interview, except that the room had two empty bookcases, one on
either side of the chimney-breast; that the fading of the wallpaper
above the mantelpiece had left a patch recording where a clock had
lately stood (I conjectured that it must be at Greenwich, undergoing
repairs); that Mrs.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25