Quisante even particularly clever.
"He's as clever as the deuce," said Dick. That conviction, at least, he
need not surrender.
"I suppose," ventured Mrs. Gellatly, "that's how he convinces Lady May
that he's always right."
Dick looked at her with a touch of covert contempt; clever people could
convince the intellect, but there were instincts of honour, of loyalty,
and of fidelity which no arguments should be able to blunt or to turn.
Here was the thing which, vaguely felt, had so puzzled him in regard to
May Quisante; he had not doubted that she would see the thing as he had
seen it--as Quisante had professed himself unable to see it.
That evening Quisante brought home to dinner the gentleman whom Dick
Benyon called old Foster the maltster, and who had been Mayor of Henstead
three several times. He was a tall, stout, white-haired old man with a
shrewd kindly face, dressed all in broadcloth, showing an expanse of
white shirt-front decorated with a big black stud and a very small black
wisp of a tie. His conversation indicated now and then that he gave
thought to the other world, always that he knew the ways of this.
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