CHAPTER XII

/Mr. Reeder/ was in his room, laying out his moderate toilet requirements on the dressing-table, and meditating upon the waste of time involved in conforming to fashion--for he had dressed for dinner--when there came a tap at the door. He paused, a well-worn hairbrush in his hand, and looked round. “Come in,” he said, and added: “if you please.” The little head of Mr. Daver appeared round the opening of the door, anxiety and apology in every line of his peculiar face. “Am I interrupting you?” he asked. “I am terrib…