The Intriguers | Page 2

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,