reason he dampened Major
Belwether's eagerness to tell everybody all he knew about the
shamelessly imprudent girl who had figured with Siward in the scandal,
but whose identity the press had not discovered.

Silence was always desirable to Quarrier; silence concerning all matters
was a trait inborn and congenially cultivated to a habit by him in every
affair of life--in business, in leisure, in the methodical pursuits of
such pleasures as a limited intellect permitted him, in personal and
family matters, in public questions and financial problems.

He listened always, but never invited confidences; he had no opinion to
express when invited. And he became very, very rich.

And over it all spread a thin membrane of vanity, nervous, not
intellectual, sensitiveness; for all sense of humour was absent in this
man, whose smile, when not a physical effort, was automatically and
methodically responsive to certain fixed cues. He smiled when he said
"Good morning," when declining or accepting invitations, when taking
his leave, when meeting anybody of any financial importance, and
when everybody except himself had begun to laugh in a theatre or a
drawing-room. This limit to any personal manifestation he considered a
generous one. And perhaps it was.

A sudden rain-squall, noisy against the casements, had darkened the
room; then the electric lights broke out with a mild candle-like lustre,
and Quarrier, standing beside Sylvia's chair, discovered it to be empty.

It was not until he had dressed for dinner that he saw her again, seated
on the stairs with Marion Page--a new appearance of intimacy for both
women, who heretofore had found nothing except a passing civility in
common.

Marion was discussing dog-breeding with that cool, crude, direct
insouciance so unpleasant to some men. Sylvia was attentive, curious,
and instinctively shrinking by turns, secretly dismayed at the
overplainness of terms employed in kennel lore by the girl at her side.

The conversation veered toward the Sagamore pup. Marion explained that
Siward was too busy to do any Southern shooting, which was why he was
glad to have her polish Sagamore on Jersey woodcock.

"I thought it was not good for a dog to be used by anybody except his
master," said Sylvia carelessly.

"Only second-raters suffer. Besides, I have shot enough, now, with Mr.
Siward to use his dog as he does."

"He is an agreeable shooting companion, smiled Sylvia.

"He is perfect," a