Skene could be who had supplanted her in the
affections of her son, and yet was no more than a prize-fighter's
old missis. Evidently she was not one to turn a young man from a
career in the ring. Again the theme of Cashel's occupation and the
chances of his quitting it ran away with Lydia's attention. She sat
with her eyes fixed on the arena, without seeing the soldiers,
swordsmen, or athletes who were busy there; her mind wandered
further and further from the place; and the chattering of the people
resolved itself into a distant hum and was forgotten.
Suddenly she saw a dreadful-looking man coming towards her across
the arena. His face had the surface and color of blue granite; his
protruding jaws and retreating forehead were like those of an
orang-outang. She started from her reverie with a shiver, and,
recovering her hearing as well as her vision of external things,
became conscious of an attempt to applaud this apparition by a few
persons below. The man grinned ferociously, placed one hand on a
stake of the ring, and vaulted over the ropes. Lydia now remarked
that, excepting his hideous head and enormous hands and feet, he was
a well-made man, with loins and shoulders that shone in the light,
and gave him an air of great strength and activity.
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