As they spoke Mrs. Foster joined them.

"Colonel Challoner is eager to see you, Margaret," she interposed. "He excused himself for not coming this evening because Greythorpe is staying with him for a day or two, but he made me promise to bring you over to-morrow." She turned to Mrs. Chudleigh. "You must join us.

Have you met Greythorpe? He's down here now and then."

It seemed to Mrs. Chudleigh that fortune was favouring her. After a long parliamentary career during which he had been distinguished by his sound sense and the moderation of his views, Greythorpe had been entrusted with an office in connexion with the administration of Colonial affairs. What was more to the purpose, he seemed to be a friend of Colonel Challoner's, whose a.s.sistance Mrs. Chudleigh thought she had means of securing in the plan she was working out.

"I should be delighted," she declared. "I don't know Mr. Greythorpe except by reputation and, as it happened, I hadn't an opportunity of speaking to Colonel Challoner on the evening when he was here, though I once met him."

Seeing that Mrs. Keith was watching her, she was glad of the chance of explaining that she had not renewed her acquaintance with the Colonel.

As she had now spent a fortnight with Mrs. Foster, who knew him well, this should disarm any suspicion that Mrs. Keith might entertain.

"I don't know why we're standing when there's room for all of us in the recess," said their hostess, who led the way towards it, and they dropped into casual conversation when tea was brought them.

The evening pa.s.sed pleasantly, for Mrs. Chudleigh who possessed some charm of manner, exerted herself to be agreeable to the newcomers.

Nevertheless she was looking forward to the next day's visit with eagerness and wondering how she could best make use of the opportunity.

At Sandymere, three miles away, Colonel Challoner spent the evening in his library with his guest. It was a large and simply furnished room, but there was a tone of austere harmony in all its appointments. The dark oak table, rows of old books in faded leather bindings, antique lamps, and straight-backed chairs were in keeping with the severe lines of the sombre panels and the heavy, square moulding of the ceiling.

Two or three wax candles in an old silver holder stood on a small table by the wide hearth on which a cheerful wood fire burned, but most of the room was shadowy.

The sense of empty s.p.a.ce and gloom had, however, no effect upon the two elderly men who sat with a cigar box and decanter in front of them, engaged in quiet, confidential talk. Challoner was white-haired, straight, and spare, with aquiline features and piercing eyes; Greythorpe broad-shouldered and big, with a heavy-jawed, thoughtful face. They had been fast friends since they had met a number of years ago when Challoner was giving evidence before a parliamentary commission.

"So you have not heard from Blake after the day he came here,"

Greythorpe said by and by.

"Never directly," Challoner replied. "On the whole, it is better so, though I regret it now and then. A weakness on my part, perhaps, but I was fond of d.i.c.k and expected much from him. However, it seems that Bertram and Margaret Keith met him in Montreal, and she is coming here to-morrow."

"A very sad affair." Greythorpe mused. "A promising career cut short and a life ruined by a moment's failure of nerve. The price paid for it was a heavy one. Still, I found the matter difficult to understand, because, so far as I could tell, there was nothing in Blake's character that made such a failure possible. Then it's known that personal courage was always a characteristic of your family."

"His mother was my sister. You have seen her portrait."

Greythorpe made a sign of a.s.sent. He knew the picture of the woman with the proud, determined face.

"And the other side? Was the strain equally virile?" he asked.

"You shall judge," said Challoner. "You and Margaret Keith are the only people to whom I have ever spoken freely of these things. I am sure of your discretion and sympathy."

He crossed the floor and opening a cabinet came back with a photograph, which he gave to his companion.

"d.i.c.k's father. He was famous as a daring rider across an Irish, stone-wall country, and was killed when taking a dangerous leap."

Greythorpe studied the face, which was of Irish type, with bold eyes in which a reckless twinkle showed. On the whole, it suggested an ardent and somewhat irresponsible temperament.

"No sign of weakness there," he said. "Though he might be careless and headstrong, this man would ride straight and stand fire. I can't hint at an explanation of his son's disaster, but I imagine that one might have been found if it had been diligently searched for. My opinion is that there's something hidden, but whether it will ever come out is another matter. But your nephew hasn't forfeited my liking. If I can ever be of any service."

"Thanks; I know," said Challoner. "It looks as if he meant to cut loose from all of us, and while I'm sorry for this I can't say that he's wrong or that it's not a proper feeling. And now I think we'll let the subject drop." He lighted a cigar before he resumed: "You look rather jaded, and I understand that your responsibilities have been added to. What have you done about the African appointment you mentioned when last here? To be candid, I never thought the man lately invalided home was in his right place."

"He was hardly decided enough," Greythorpe answered thoughtfully. "So far, we haven't filled the post, though two or three names have been suggested. We have a man out there now who has shown some enterprise and ability, and are inclined to leave him informally in charge while we consider things."

"In view of our friendly relations with the French, one would imagine that the appointment needs careful thought. It's easy for undesirable disputes to crop up, when you have turbulent native subjects to keep in hand along another power's frontier."

"That's true. Our territory adjoins theirs for some distance, but, as it happens, our respective fields of influence outside the recognized boundaries have not been very clearly defined. Now there's reason to believe that part of the unclaimed neutral belt would be valuable to us, and I needn't point out that the Imperial expansionists have made their influence felt."

"It's a pity the Government seems able to resist it," Challoner drily remarked.

Greythorpe smiled, for he and his host took different sides in party politics, though they often agreed on points that concerned their country's foreign policy.

"I think they're wise in their moderation, but I've had plain hints about the desirability of extending our influence in Africa, which is why we attach some importance to the appointment in question. Its holder must be a man of tact, able to keep on friendly terms with the French officials, and yet bold enough to secure us any advantage that may offer in the unoccupied belt. In fact, though the post is not highly paid, he must have exceptional talent."

"Men of that kind are hard to pick up."

"Very true. None of the candidates quite satisfies us, but when we have investigated their qualifications fully I may ask you what you think. It would be premature just now."

"Always glad to be of service," Challoner replied. "But the men you'll have to choose among have grown up since my day."

"That is not important. It's largely a question of personal character, and you're a judge of that when it must be coupled with military skill."

Challoner smiled in a sombre manner. "I used to think so, but I've come to doubt it. I made a grave mistake about my nephew. However, there's a matter you were speaking of this morning and a point has since occurred to me."

Greythorpe said he would be glad to hear it, and they talked over the subject until they went to bed.

The next afternoon was bright and mild, and soon after Mrs. Foster and her party arrived Challoner offered to show them his winter shrubbery.

"I have lately planted a number of new specimens which you and Margaret have not seen," he said. "Your friends may be interested to learn what effects can be got by a judicious mingling of bushes remarkable for the beauty of their berries and branch-colouring among the stereotyped evergreens."

They went out and Mrs. Chudleigh thought the front of the old house with its mullioned windows, heavy, pillared coping, and angular chimney stacks, made a picturesque background for the smooth-clipped yew hedges and broad sweep of lawn. Behind it a wood of tall beeches raised their naked boughs in pale, intricate tracery against the soft blue sky. The shrubs proved worth inspection, for some were rich with berries of hues that varied from crimson to lilac and the ma.s.sed twigs of others formed blotches of strong colouring. The gra.s.s was dry and lighted by gleams of sunshine, the air only cold enough to make movement pleasant, and Mrs. Chudleigh felt content as she paced a sheltered walk with Colonel Challoner, whom she un.o.btrusively studied.

He looked rather stern and worn, and his soft grey tweed showed the leanness of his figure, but his expression and bearing indicated force of will. In his conversation with women he was marked by an air of old-fashioned gallantry, and though his wit was now and then ironical his companion found him attractive. She had cleverly appropriated and separated him from the rest soon after they entered the garden, but she was too clever to approach too soon the object she had in view. First of all, she must ingratiate herself with him, and she saw that he liked her society, though she made one or two mistakes about the shrubs in which she professed a keen interest.

"I'm afraid you don't quite grasp my meaning," he said with a smile.

"It's a difference between varieties, not between species. They are not the same thing."

"I should have remembered," Mrs. Challoner [Transcriber's note: Chudleigh?] replied. "I must own that I'm not a botanist, but one can appreciate the beauty of plants without knowing all about them.

Perhaps the same applies to beauty in any form."

"No doubt. Harmonies of outline, and concords of colour make an unconscious appeal, but in Nature's products knowledge adds to admiration. The deeper you probe, the more you reveal, until you come to mysteries beyond our solving." He added with some dryness: "It's often otherwise with man's work; knowledge means disillusion. You see how the trick is done."

"Must it always be a trick?"

"Oh! no; not necessarily. There is a sincerity of effort that leads to lasting and beautiful work, but perhaps it's not common."

"I'm afraid you're a pessimist."

"I wouldn't like to think so, but I have lived a long time and insisted on using my eyes, even when clearsightedness may not have been a benefit. There's a penalty attached to the habit of close observation; one sees things that hurt."

He spoke with dry humour, but his words had their effect on his companion, who was by no means philosophical. When she studied human weaknesses it was with the object of turning them to her advantage, but the shrewd, upright soldier saw them as things to avoid or recognize with scorn. He, however, plucked a bunch of crimson berries which he gave her.

"This," he said, "is in my opinion an exceptionally beautiful bush.

Mrs. Keith sent it me from the Tyrol some years ago."