Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. He did make her perceive something of the acute, tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. “Very,” said Mr. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. ‘Mademoiselle. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. Every one turned to her in astonishment.
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