WAITER. Quite sure, sir. She expects you at a quarter to one, sir. (The gentleman, soothed at once by the waiter's voice, looks at him with a lazy smile. It is a quiet voice, with a gentle melody in it that gives sympathetic interest to his most commonplace remark; and he speaks with the sweetest propriety, neither dropping his aitches nor misplacing them, nor committing any other vulgarism. He looks at his watch as he continues) Not that yet, sir, is it? 12:43, sir. Only two minutes more to wait, sir. Nice morning, sir? THE GENTLEMAN. Yes: very fresh after London. WAITER. Yes, sir: so all our visitors say, sir. Very nice family, Mrs. Clandon's, sir. THE GENTLEMAN. You like them, do you? WAITER. Yes, sir. They have a free way with them that is very taking, sir, very taking indeed, sir: especially the young lady and gentleman. THE GENTLEMAN. Miss Dorothea and Mr. Philip, I suppose. WAITER. Yes, sir. The young lady, in giving an order, or the like of that, will say, "Remember, William, we came to this hotel on your account, having heard what a perfect waiter you are." The young gentleman will tell me that I remind him strongly of his father (the gentleman starts at this) and that he expects me to act by him as such. (Soothing, sunny cadence.) Oh, very pleasant, sir, very affable and pleasant indeed! THE GENTLEMAN. You like his father! (He laughs at the notion.) WAITER. Oh, we must not take what they say too seriously, sir. Of course, sir, if it were true, the young lady would have seen the resemblance, too, sir. THE GENTLEMAN. Did she? WAITER. No, sir. She thought me like the bust of Shakespear in Stratford Church, sir. That is why she calls me William, sir. My real name is Walter, sir. (He turns to go back to the table, and sees Mrs. Clandon coming up to the terrace from the beach by the steps.) Here is Mrs. Clandon, sir. (To Mrs. Clandon, in an unobtrusively confidential tone) Gentleman for you, ma'am. MRS. CLANDON. We shall have two more gentlemen at lunch, William. WAITER. Right, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. (He withdraws into the hotel. Mrs. Clandon comes forward looking round for her visitor, but passes over the gentleman without any sign of recognition.) THE GENTLEMAN (peering at her quaintly from under the umbrella). Don't you know me? MRS. CLANDON (incredulously, looking hard at him) Are you Finch McComas? McCOMAS. Can't you guess? (He shuts the umbrella; puts it aside; and jocularly plants himself with his hands on his hips to be inspected.) MRS. CLANDON. I believe you are. (She gives him her hand. The shake that ensues is that of old friends after a long separation.) Where's your beard? McCOMAS (with humorous solemnity). Would you employ a solicitor with a beard? MRS. CLANDON (pointing to the silk hat on the table). Is that your hat? McCOMAS. Would you employ a solicitor with a sombrero?