The Intriguers E-Book

Harold Bindloss

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Churches, banks, offices and accommodations curiously combining the old and the newest pink tiers on a par with the magnificent red Frontenac Hotel. It would seem such a simple city. However, it was something unusual mystical. The people who lived here enjoyed life at first until something went wrong. The story is full of mysteries, and the answers to which lie at the very end.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I. THE BLAKE AFFAIR

CHAPTER II. ON THE RIVER BOAT

CHAPTER III. THE COUSINS

CHAPTER IV. THE MAN FROM CONNECTICUT

CHAPTER V. CORNERING THE BOBCAT

CHAPTER VI. THE PRAIRIE

CHAPTER VII. THE OCCULT MAN

CHAPTER VIII. TROUBLE

CHAPTER IX. A SUSPICIOUS MOVE

CHAPTER X. THE MUSKEG

CHAPTER XI. KIDNAPPED

CHAPTER XII. THE FEVER PATIENT

CHAPTER XIII. A STAUNCH ALLY

CHAPTER XIV. DEFEAT

CHAPTER XV. THE FROZEN NORTH

CHAPTER XVI. THE TRAIL OF THE CARIBOU

CHAPTER XVII. A RESPITE

CHAPTER XVIII. THE BACK TRAIL

CHAPTER XIX. THE DESERTED TEPEES

CHAPTER XX. A STARTLING DISCOVERY

CHAPTER XXI. A MATTER OF DUTY

CHAPTER XXII. THE GIRL AND THE MAN

CHAPTER XXIII. SOLVING THE PROBLEM

CHAPTER XXIV. A WOMAN’S ADVICE

CHAPTER XXV. LOVE AND VICTORY

CHAPTER I. THE BLAKE AFFAIR

On a fine morning early in July Mrs. Keith sat with a companion, enjoying the sunshine, near the end of Dufferin Avenue, which, skirts the elevated ground above the city of Quebec. Behind her rose the Heights of Abraham where the dying Wolfe wrested Canada from France; in front, churches, banks, offices and dwellings, curiously combining the old and the very new, rose tier on tier to the great red Frontenac Hotel. It is a picturesque city that climbs back from its noble river; supreme, perhaps, in its situation among Canadian towns, and still retaining something of the exotic stamp set upon it by its first builders whose art was learned in the France of long ago.

From where she sat Mrs. Keith could not see the ugly wooden wharves. Her glance rested on the flood that flowed toward her, still and deep, through a gorge lined with crags and woods, and then, widening rapidly, washed the shores of a low, green island. Opposite her white houses shone on the Levis ridge, and beyond this a vast sweep of country, steeped in gradations of color that ended in ethereal blue, rolled away toward the hills of Maine.

Mrs. Keith and her companion were both elderly. They had played their part in the drama of life, one of them in a strenuous manner, and now they were content with the position of lookers-on. So far, however, nothing had occurred since breakfast to excite their interest.

“I think I’ll go to Montreal by the special boat tonight,” Mrs. Keith said with characteristic briskness. “The hotel’s crowded, the town’s full, and you keep meeting people whom you know or have heard about. I came here to see Canada, but I find it hard to realize that I’m not in London; I’m tired of the bustle.”

Mrs. Ashborne smiled. She had met Margaret Keith by chance in Quebec, but their acquaintance was of several years’ standing.

“Tired?” she said. “That is sorely a new sensation for you. I’ve often envied you your energy.”

Age had touched Mrs. Keith lightly, though she had long been a childless widow and had silvery hair. Tall and finely made, with prominent nose and piercing eyes, she was marked by a certain stateliness and a decided manner. She was blunt without rudeness, and though often forceful was seldom arrogant.

Careless of her dress, as she generally was, Margaret Keith bore the stamp of refinement and breeding, “Ah!” she said; “I begin to feel I’m old. But will you come to Montreal with me to-night?”

“I suppose I’d better, though the boat takes longer than the train, and I hear that the Place Viger is full. I don’t know anything about the other hotels; they might not be comfortable.”

“They’ll no doubt be able to offer us all that we require, and I never pamper myself,” Mrs. Keith replied. “In fact, it’s now and then a relief to do something that’s opposed to the luxuriousness of the age.”

“This was a favorite topic, but she broke off as a man came toward her, carrying one or two small parcels which apparently belonged to the girl at his side. He was a handsome man, tall and rather spare, with dark eyes and a soldierly look. His movements were quick and forceful, but a hint of what Mrs. Keith called swagger somewhat spoiled his bearing. She thought he allowed his self-confidence to be seen too plainly. The girl formed a marked contrast to him; she was short and slender, her hair and eyes were brown, while her prettiness, for one could not have, called her beautiful, was of an essentially delicate kind. It did not strike one at first sight, but grew upon her acquaintances. Her manner was quiet and reserved and she was plainly dressed in white, but when she turned and dismissed her companion her pose was graceful. Then she handed Mrs. Keith some letters and papers.

“I have been to the post-office, and Captain Sedgwick made them search for our mail,” she said. “It came some time ago, but there was a mistake through its not being addressed to the hotel.”

Mrs. Keith took the letters and gave Mrs. Ashborne an English newspaper.

“The bobcat has torn a hole in the basket,” the girl went on, “and I’m afraid it’s trying to get at the mink.”

“Tell some of the hotel people to take it out at once and see that the basket is sent to be mended.”

The girl withdrew and Mrs. Ashborne looked up.

“Did I hear aright?” she asked in surprise. “She said a bobcat?”

Mrs. Keith laughed.

“I am making a collection of the smaller American animals. A bobcat is something like a big English ferret. It has high hindquarters, and walks with a curious jump–I suppose that is how it got its name. I’m not sure it lives in Canada; an American got this one for me. I find natural history very interesting.”

“I should imagine you found it expensive. Aren’t some of the creatures savage?”

“Millicent looks after them; and I always beat the sellers down. Fortunately, I can afford to indulge in my caprices. You can consider this my latest fad, if you like. I am subject to no claims, and my means are hardly large enough to make me an object of interest to sycophantic relatives.”

“Is your companion fond of attending to wild animals?” Mrs. Ashborne inquired. “I have wondered where you got her. You have had a number, but she is different from the rest.”

“I suppose you mean she is too good for the post?” Mrs. Keith suggested. “However, I don’t mind telling you that she is Eustace Graham’s daughter; you must have heard of him.”

“Eustace Graham? Wasn’t he in rather bad odor–only tolerated on the fringe of society? I seem to recollect some curious tales about him.”

“Toward the end he was outside the fringe; indeed, I don’t know how he kept on his feet so long; but he went downhill fast. A plucker of plump pigeons, an expensive friend to smart young subalterns and boys about town. Cards, bets, loans arranged, and that kind of thing. All the same, he had his good points when I first knew him.”

“But after such a life as his daughter must have led, do you consider her a suitable person to take about with you? What do your friends think? They have to receive her now and then.”

“I can’t say that I have much cause to respect my friends’ opinions, and I’m not afraid of the girl’s contaminating me,” Mrs. Keith replied. “Besides, Millicent lost her mother early and lived with her aunts until a few months before her father’s death. I expect Eustace felt more embarrassed than grateful when she came to take care of him, but, to do him justice, he would see that none of the taint of his surroundings rested on the girl. He did wrong, but I think he paid for it, and it is better to be charitable.”

She broke off, and glanced down at the big liner with cream-colored funnel that was slowly swinging across the stream.

“I must send Millicent to buy our tickets for Montreal,” she said. “The hotel will be crowded before long with that steamer’s noisy passengers. I shall be glad to escape from it all. Let us hope that Montreal will be quieter, and we shall have a chance to see a bit of Canada.”

Mrs. Ashborne opened the Morning Post, and presently looked up at her companion.

“ "A marriage–between Blanche Newcombe and Captain Challoner–at Thornton Holme, in Shropshire,’ ” she read out. “Do you know the bride?”

“I know Bertram Challoner better,” Mrs. Keith replied, and was silent for a minute or two, musing on former days. “His mother was an old friend of mine–a woman of imagination, with strong artistic tastes; and Bertram resembles her. It was his father, the Colonel, who forced him into the army, and I’m somewhat astonished that he has done so well.”

“They were all soldiers, I understand. But wasn’t there some scandal about a cousin?”

“Richard Blake?” said Mrs. Keith, making room for Millicent Graham, her companion, who rejoined them. “It’s getting an old story, and I always found it puzzling. So far as one could Judge, Dick, Blake should have made an excellent officer; his mother, the Colonel’s sister, was true to the Challoner strain, his father a reckless Irish sportsman.”

“But what was the story? I haven’t heard it.”

“After Blake broke his neck when hunting, the Colonel brought Dick up, and, as a matter of course, sent him into the army. He became a sapper, entering the Indian service. There he met his cousin, Bertram, who was in the line, somewhere on the frontier. They were both sent with an expedition into the hills, and there was a night attack. It was important that an advanced post should be defended, and Dick had laid out the trenches. In the middle of the fight an officer lost his nerve, the position was stormed, and the expedition terribly cut up. Owing to the darkness and confusion there was a doubt about who had led the retreat, but Dick was blamed and made no defense. In spite of this, he was acquitted at the inquiry, perhaps because he was a favorite and Colonel Challoner was well known upon the frontier; but the opinion of the mess was against him. He left the service, and the Challoners never speak of him.”

“I once met Lieutenant Blake,” Millicent broke in, with a flush in her face. “Though he spoke only a word or two to me, he did a very chivalrous thing; one that needed courage and coolness. I find it hard to believe that such a man could ever be a coward.”

“So do I,” Mrs. Keith agreed. “Still, I haven’t seen him since he was a boy.”

“I saw him in London just before he went to India,” Mrs. Ashborne said. “It’s strange I have never heard the story before; although I have had whispers of the scandal from several quarters. It seems to be a sort of skeleton in the closet’ for the Challoners.”

“The disgrace was a great blow to the Colonel. He has never got over it.”

“I saw some one in the hotel last night that reminded me strongly of young Blake. But I suppose it couldn’t have been.”

“No one knows where he is,” Mrs. Keith replied. “I believe he went to East Africa, and from there he may have drifted to America. The Colonel never hears from him.”

She picked up one of her letters which had not yet been opened.

“This,” she said, “is from Frances Foster–you know her. I’m sure it will contain news of the Challoner wedding.”

She tore open the envelope and Mrs. Ashborne turned again to her English newspaper. Millicent sat looking out over the gorge, while her thoughts went back to a dimly lighted drawing-room in a small London apartment, where she was feeling very lonely and half dismayed, one evening soon after she had joined her father. A few beautiful objects of art were scattered among the shabby furniture; there were stains of wine on the fine Eastern rug, an inlaid table was scraped and damaged, and one chair had a broken leg. All she saw spoke of neglect and vanished prosperity. Hoarse voices and loud laughter came from an ad joining room, and a smell of cigar smoke accompanied them. Sitting at the piano, she restlessly turned over some music and now and then played a few bars to divert her troubled thoughts. Until a few weeks before, she had led a peaceful life in the country, and it had been a painful surprise to her to find her father of such doubtful character and habits. She was interrupted by the violent opening of the door, and a group of excited men burst into the room. They were shouting with laughter at a joke which made her blush, and one dragged a companion in by the arm. Another, breaking off from rude horse-play, came toward her with a drunken leer. She shrank from his hot face and wine-laden breath as she drew back, wondering how she could reach her father, who stood in the doorway trying to restrain his guests. Then a young man sprang forward, with disgust and anger in his brown face, and she felt that she was safe. He looked clean and wholesome by contrast with the rest, and his movements were swift and athletic. Millicent could remember him very well, for she had often thought of Lieutenant Blake with gratitude. Just as the tipsy gallant stretched out his hand to seize her, the electric light went out; there was a brief scuffle in the darkness, the door banged, and when the light flashed up again only Blake and her father were in the room. Afterward her father told her, with a look of shame on his handsome, dissipated face, that he had been afraid of something of the kind happening, and she must leave him. Millicent refused, for, worn as he was by many excesses, his health was breaking down; and when he fell ill she nursed him until he died. She had not seen Lieutenant Blake since.

Mrs. Keith’s voice broke in upon her recollections. “It’s possible we may see Bertram and the new Mrs. Challoner. She is going out with him, but they are to travel by the Canadian Pacific route and spend some time in Japan before proceeding to his Indian station.” Referring to the date of her letter she resumed, “They may have caught the boat that has just come in; she’s one of the railway Empresses, and there’s an Allan liner due to-morrow. We will go to the hotel and try to get a list of the passengers.”

She rose, and they walked slowly back along the avenue.

CHAPTER II. ON THE RIVER BOAT

Dusk was falling on the broad river, and the bold ridge behind the city stood out sharp and black against a fading gleam in the western sky. A big, sidewheel steamer, spotlessly white, with tiers of decks that towered above the sheds and blazed with light, was receiving the last of her passengers and preparing to cast off from her moorings. Richard Blake hurried along the wharf and, on reaching the gangplank, stood aside to let an elderly lady pass. She was followed by her maid and a girl whose face he could not see. It was a few minutes after the sailing time, and as the lady stepped on board a rope fell with a splash. There was a shout of warning as the bows, caught by the current, began to swing out into the stream, and the end of the gangplank slipped along the edge of the wharf. It threatened to fall into the river, and the girl was not yet on board. Blake leaped upon the plank. Seizing her shoulder, he drove her forward until a seaman, reaching out, drew her safe on deck. Then the paddles splashed and as the boat forged out into the stream, the girl turned and thanked Blake. He could not see her clearly, for an overarching deck cast a shadow on her face.

“Glad to have been of assistance; but I don’t think you could have fallen in,” he said. “The guy-rope they had on the gangplank might have held it up.”

Turning away, he entered the smoking-room, where he spent a while over an English newspaper that devoted some space to social functions and the doings of people of importance, noticing once or twice, with a curious smile, mention of names he knew. He had the gift of making friends, and before he went to India he had met a number of men and women of note who had been disposed to like him. Then he had won the good opinion of responsible officers on the turbulent frontier and had made acquaintances that might have been valuable. Now, however, he had done with all that; he was banished from the world in which they moved, and if they ever remembered him it was, no doubt, as one who had gone under.

Shaking off these thoughts, he joined some Americans in a game of cards, and it was late at night when he went out into the moonlight as the boat steamed up Lake St. Peter. A long plume of smoke trailed across the cloudless sky, the water glistened with silvery radiance, and, looking over the wide expanse, he could see dark trees etched faintly on the blue horizon. Ahead, the lights of Three Rivers twinkled among square, black blocks of houses and tall sawmill stacks.

A few passengers were strolling about, but the English newspaper had made Blake restless, and he wanted to be alone. Descending to a quieter deck, he was surprised to see the girl he had assisted sitting in a canvas chair near the rail. Nearby stood several large baskets, from which rose an angry snarling.

“What is this?” he asked, with the careless abruptness which usually characterized him. “With your permission.”

He raised a lid, while the girl watched him with amusement.

“Looks like a menagerie on a small scale,” he remarked. “Are these animals yours?”

“No; they belong to Mrs. Keith.”

“Mrs. Keith?” he said sharply. “The lady I saw at the Frontenac, with the autocratic manners? It’s curious, but she reminds me of somebody I knew, and the name’s the same. I wonder–”

He broke off, and Millicent Graham studied him as he stood in the moonlight. She did not think he recognized her, and perhaps he was hardly justified in supposing that his timely aid at the gangway dispensed with the need for an introduction, but she liked his looks, which she remembered well. She had no fear of this man’s presuming too far; and his surprise when she mentioned Mrs. Keith, had roused her interest.

“Yes,” she said; “I believe it was my employer you knew.”

He did not follow this lead.

“Are you supposed to sit up all night and watch the animals for her?” he asked.

“Only for an hour or two. The steamboat people refused to have them in the saloon, and the maid should have relieved me. She was tired, however, with packing and running errands all day, and I thought I’d let her sleep a while.”

“Then it can’t be much of an intrusion if I try to make you more comfortable. Let me move your chair nearer the deckhouse, where you’ll be out of the wind; but I’ll first see if I can find another rug.”

He left her without waiting for a reply, and, returning with a rug, placed her chair in a sheltered spot; then he leaned against the railing.

“So you are Mrs. Keith’s companion,” he observed. “It strikes me as rather unfeeling of her to keep you here in the cold.” He indicated the baskets. “But what’s her object in buying these creatures?”

“Caprice,” Millicent smiled. “Some of them are savage, and they cost a good deal. I can’t imagine what she means to do with them; I don’t think she knows herself. One of them, however, has been growling all day, and as it’s apparently unwell it mustn’t be neglected.”

“If it growls any more, I’ll feel tempted to turn yonder hose upon it, or try some other drastic remedy.”

“Please don’t!” cried Millicent in alarm. “But you mustn’t think Mrs. Keith is inconsiderate. I have much to thank her for; but she gets very enthusiastic over her hobbies.”

“Do you know whether she ever goes down to a little place in Shropshire?”

“Yes; I have been with her. Once she took me to your old home.” The color crept into Millicent’s face. “You don’t seem to remember me, Lieutenant Blake.”

Blake had learned self-control and he did not start, though he came near doing so as he recalled a scene in which he had taken part some years earlier.

“It would have been inexcusable if I had forgotten you,” he responded with a smile. “Still, I couldn’t quite place you until a few moments ago, when you faced the light. But you were wrong in one thing: I’m no longer Lieutenant Blake.”

She appreciated the frankness which had prompted this warning, and she saw that she had made a tactless blunder, but she looked at him steadily.

“I forgot,” she said; “forgive me. I heard of–what happened in India–but I knew that there must have been some mistake.” She hesitated for a moment. “I think so now.”

Blake made a sudden movement, and then leaned back against the railing.

“I’m afraid that an acquaintance which lasted three or four minutes could hardly enable you to judge: first impressions are often wrong, you know. Anyway, I don’t complain of the opinion of gentlemen who knew more about me.”

Millicent saw that the subject must be dropped.

“At our first meeting,” she said, “I had no opportunity for thanking you; and you gave me none tonight. It’s curious that, while I’ve met you only twice, on both occasions you turned up just when you were needed. Is it a habit of yours?”

Blake laughed.

“That’s a flattering thing to hint. The man who’s always on hand when he’s wanted is an estimable person.”

He studied her with an interest which she noticed but could not resent. The girl had changed and gained something since their first meeting, and he thought it was a knowledge of the world. She was, he felt, neither tainted nor hardened by what she had learned, but her fresh childish look which suggested ignorance of evil had gone and could not come back. Indeed, he wondered bow she had preserved it in her father’s house. This was not a matter he could touch upon; but presently she referred to it.

“I imagine,” she said shyly, “that on the evening when you came to my rescue in London you were surprised to find me–so unprepared; so incapable of dealing with the situation.”

“That is true,” Blake answered with some awkwardness. “A bachelor dinner, you know, after a big race meeting at which we had backed several winners! One has to make allowances.”

Millicent smiled rather bitterly.

“You may guess that I had to make them often in those days; but it was on the evening we were speaking of that my eyes were first opened, and I was startled. But you must understand that it was not by my father’s wish that I came to London and stayed with him–until the end. He urged me to go away; but his health had broken down and he had no one else to care for him. When he was no longer able to get about, everybody deserted him, and he felt it.”

“I was truly sorry to hear of his death,” Blake said. “Your father was once a very good friend to me. But, if I may ask, how was it he let you come to his flat?”

“I forced myself upon him. My mother died long ago, and her unmarried sisters took care of me. They lived very simply in a small secluded country house: two old-fashioned Evangelicals, gentle but austere, studying small economies, giving all they could away. In winter we embroidered for missionary bazaars; in summer we spent the days in a quiet, walled garden. It was all very peaceful, but I grew restless; and when I heard that my father’s health was failing I felt that I must go to him. My aunts were grieved and alarmed, but they said they dare not hinder me if I thought it my duty.”

Stirred by troubled memories and perhaps encouraged by the sympathy he showed, she had spoken on impulse without reserve, and Blake listened with pity. The girl, brought up, subject to wholesome Puritanical influences, in such surroundings as she had described, must have suffered a cruel shock when suddenly plunged into the society of the rakes and gamblers who frequented her father’s flat.

“Could you not have gone back when you were no longer needed?” he asked.

“No,” she said; “it would not have been fair. I had changed since I left my aunts. They were very sensitive, and I think the difference they must have noticed in me would have jarred on them. I should have brought something alien into their unworldly life. It was too late to return; I had to follow the path I had chosen.”

Blake mused a while, watching the lights of Three Rivers fade astern and the broad white wake of the paddles stream back across the glassy surface of the lake. The girl must have learned much of human failings since she left her sheltered home, but he thought the sweetness of character which could not be spoiled by knowledge of evil was greatly to be admired. He was, however, a man of action and not a philosopher.

“Well,” he said, “I appreciate your letting me talk to you; but it’s cold and getting late, and you have sat on deck long enough. I’ll see that somebody looks after the animals.”

Millicent felt dubious, though she was sleepy and tired.

“If anything happened to her pets, Mrs. Keith would not forgive me.”

“I’ll engage that something will happen to some of them very soon unless you promise to go to your room,” Blake laughed. Then he called a deckhand. “What have you to do?”

“Stand here until the watch is changed.”

“Then, you can keep an eye on these baskets. If any of the beasts makes an alarming noise, send to my room, the second, forward, port side. Look me up before we get to Montreal.”

“That’s all right, sir,” replied the man.

Blake turned to Millicent and held out his hand as she rose.

“Now,” he said, “you can go to rest with a clear conscience.”

She left him with a word of thanks, wondering whether she had been indiscreet, and why she had told him so much. She knew nothing to his advantage except one chivalrous action, and she had not desired to arouse his pity, but he had an honest face and had shown an understanding sympathy which touched her, because she had seldom experienced it. He had left the army with a stain upon his name; but she felt very confident that he had not merited his disgrace.

CHAPTER III. THE COUSINS

Dinner was over at the Windsor, in Montreal, and Mrs. Keith was sitting with Mrs. Ashborne in the square between the hotel and St. Catharine’s Street. A cool air blew uphill from the river, and the patch of grass with its fringe of small, dusty trees had a certain picturesqueness in the twilight. Above it the wooded crest of the mountain rose darkly against the evening sky; lights glittered behind the network of thin branches and fluttering leaves along the sidewalk, and the dome of the cathedral bulked huge and shadowy across the square. Downhill, toward St. James’s, rose towering buildings, with the rough-hewn front of the Canadian Pacific station prominent among them, and the air was filled with the clanging of street-cars and the tolling of locomotive bells. Once or twice, however, when the throb of the traffic momentarily subsided, music rose faint and sweet from the cathedral, and Mrs. Keith turned to listen. She had heard the uplifted voices before, through her open window in the early morning when the city was silent and its busy toilers slept, and now it seemed to her appropriate that they could not be wholly drowned by its hoarse commercial clamor.

The square served as a cool retreat for the inhabitants of crowded tenements and those who had nowhere else to go, but Margaret Keith was not fastidious about her company. She was interested in the unkempt immigrants who, waiting for a west-bound train, lay upon the grass, surrounded by their tired children; and she had sent Millicent down the street to buy fruit to distribute among the travelers. She liked to watch the French Canadian girls who slipped quietly up the broad cathedral steps. They were the daughters of the rank and file, but their movements were graceful and they were tastefully dressed. Then the blue-shirted, sinewy men, who strolled past, smoking, roused her curiosity. They had not acquired their free, springy stride in the cities; these were adventurers who had met with strange experiences in the frozen North and the lonely West. Some of them had hard faces and a predatory air, but that added to their interest. Margaret Keith liked to watch them all, and speculate about their mode of life; that pleasure could still be enjoyed, though, as she sometimes told herself with humorous resignation, she could no longer take a very active part in things.

Presently, however, something that appealed to her in a more direct and personal way occurred, for a man came down the steps of the Windsor and crossed the well-lighted street with a very pretty English girl. He carried himself well, and had the look of a soldier; his figure was finely proportioned; but his handsome face suggested sensibility rather than decision of character, and his eyes were dreamy. His companion, so far as Mrs. Keith could judge by her smiling glance as she laid her hand upon his arm when they left the sidewalk, was proud of him, and much in love with him.

“Whom are you looking at so hard?” Mrs. Ashborne inquired.

“Bertram Challoner and his bride,” said Mrs. Keith. “They’re coming toward us yonder.”

Then a curious thing happened, for a man who was crossing the street seemed to see the Challoners and, turning suddenly, stepped back behind a passing cab. They had their backs to him when he went on, but he looked around, as if to make sure he had not been observed, before he entered the hotel.

“That was strange,” said Mrs. Ashborne. “It looked as if the fellow didn’t want to meet our friends. Who can he be?”

“How can I tell?” Mrs. Keith answered. “I think I’ve seen him somewhere, but that’s all I know.”

Looking around as Millicent joined them, she noticed the girl’s puzzled expression. Millicent had obviously seen the stranger’s action, but Mrs. Keith did not wish to pursue the subject then; and the next moment Challoner came up and greeted her heartily, while his wife spoke to Mrs. Ashborne.

“We arrived only this afternoon, and must have missed you at dinner,” he said. “We may go West to-morrow, though we haven’t decided yet. I’ve no doubt we shall see you again to-night or at breakfast.”

After a few pleasant words the Challoners passed on, and Mrs. Keith looked after them thoughtfully.

“Bertram has changed in the last few years,” she said. “I heard that he had malaria in India, and that perhaps accounts for it, but he shows signs of his mother’s delicacy. She was not strong, and I always thought he had her highly strung nervous temperament, though he must have learned to control it in the army.”

“He couldn’t have got in unless the doctors were satisfied with him,” Mrs. Ashborne pointed out.

“That’s true; but both mental and physical traits have a way of lying dormant while we’re young, and developing later. Bertram has shown himself a capable officer; but, to my mind, he looked more like a soldier when he was at Sandhurst than he does now.”

Mrs. Ashborne glanced toward Millicent, who was distributing a basket of peaches among a group of untidy immigrant children. One toddling baby clung to her skirt.

“What a charming picture! Miss Graham fits the part well. You can see that she’s sorry for the dirty little beggars. They don’t look as if they’d had a happy time; and a liner’s crowded steerage isn’t a luxurious place.”

Mrs. Keith smiled as Millicent came toward her with a few of the small children clustered round her.

“I have some English letters to write,” she said; “and I think we’ll go in.”