Secretly, she
considered herself to be possibly a bit shrewder than Fanny. In
reality she was not as easily influenced, and slower at forming
conclusions. She possessed a mind of more scope.
Ellen walked along, setting her pointed feet down very carefully so
as not to raise the dust and soil her nice skirts. She was a dainty
creature. When she reached the hedge which marked the beginning of
the Bolton estate, she started, not violently, that was not her way,
but anybody is more startled at the sudden glimpse of a figure at
complete rest, almost rigidity, than of a figure in motion. Had the
old man whom Ellen saw been walking along toward her, she would not
have started at all. She might have glanced at him with passing
curiosity, since he was a stranger in Brookville, then that would
have been the end of it. But this old man, standing as firmly fixed
as a statue against the hedge, startled the girl. He was rather a
handsome old man, but there was something peculiar about him. For one
thing he was better dressed than old men in Brookville generally
were. He wore a light Palm Beach cloth suit, possibly too young for
him, also a Panama hat. He did not look altogether tidy. He did not
wear his up-to-date clothes very well. He had a rumpled appearance.
He was very pale almost with the paleness of wax. He did not stand
strongly, but rested his weight first on one foot, then on the other.
Ellen recovered her composure, but as she was passing, he spoke
suddenly.
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