If Plank suspected him, he must also suspect him of complicity in the Inter-County grab; he must suspect him of the ruthless crushing power that corrupts or annihilates opposition, making a mockery of legislation, a jest of the courts, and an epigram of a people's indignation.
And yet, in the face of all this, careless, fearless, frank to the outer verge of stupidity--which sometimes means the inability to be afraid--this man Plank was casually telling him things which men regard as secrets and as weapons of defence--was actually averting him of his peril, and telling him almost contemptuously to pull up the drawbridge and prepare for siege, instead of rushing the castle and giving it to the sack.
As Quarrier sat there meditating, his long, white fingers caressing his soft, pointed beard, Sylvia came in, greeting the men collectively with a nod, and offering her hand to Plank.
"Dinner is announced," she said; "please go in farm fashion. Wait!" as Plank, following the major and Quarrier, stood aside for her to pass. "No, you go ahead, Howard; and you," to the major.
Left for a moment in the room with Plank, she stood listening to the others descending the stairs; then: "Have you seen Mr. Siward?"
"Yes," said Plank.
"Oh! Is he well?"
"Not very."
"Is he well enough to read a letter, and to answer one?"
"Oh, yes; he's well enough in that way."
"I supposed so. That is why I said to you, over the wire, not to trouble him with my request."
"You mean that I am not to say anything about your offer to buy the hunter?"
"No. If I make up my mind that I want the horse I'll write him--perhaps."
Lingering still, she let one hand fall on the banisters, turning back toward Plank, who was following: "I understood you to mean that--that Mr. Siward's financial affairs were anything but satisfactory?"--the sweet, trailing, upward inflection making it a question.
"When did I say that?" demanded Plank.
"Once--a month ago."
"I didn't," said Plank bluntly.
"Oh, I had inferred it, then, from something you said, or something you were silent about. Is that it?"
"I don't know."
"Am I quite wrong, then?" she asked, looking him in the eyes.
And Plank, who never lied, found no answer. Considering him for a moment in silence, she turned again and descended the stairs.
The dinner was one of those thoroughly well-chosen dinners of few courses and faultless service suitable for card-players, who neither care to stuff themselves as a preliminary to a battle royal, nor to dawdle through courses, eliminating for themselves what is not good for them. The men drank a light, sound, aromatic Irish of the major's; the women--except Marion, who took what the men took--used claret sparingly. Coffee was served where they sat; the men smoking, Agatha and Marion producing their own cigarettes.