Quite a good job: his clerk had booked it for him. Leadbitter called for the man first. He was the artist type, tall, young, loosely built, with greenish eyes and auburn locks and a beard. Leadbitter took against him at sight, but he was an impartial judge of a man and he had to admit that as a man, if you cared for that type, this one made the grade. He had a pleasant, musical voice, cultivated without being affected, and an assurance of being liked which showed itself in his movements. He asked Leadbitter to go to an address on Campden Hill, and there he got out, rang the bell, and waited on the doorstep. Here he was joined, as Leadbitter expected, by a woman. She, too, was tall, nearly as tall as he, with bronze hair, wide, high cheekbones and an air of breeding. (Leadbitter prided himself on being able to pick out the blue-blooded ones.) From the moment of their greeting Leadbitter took for granted that the two were lovers of old standing, there was just that amount of passion in their kiss.
