. . "
My levity was too much for Mrs. Fyne. Still leaning back in her chair
she exclaimed:
"Mr. Marlow!"
* * * * *
As if mysteriously affected by her indignation the absurd Fyne dog began
to bark in the porch. It might have been at a trespassing bumble-bee
however. That animal was capable of any eccentricity. Fyne got up
quickly and went out to him. I think he was glad to leave us alone to
discuss that matter of his journey to London. A sort of anti-sentimental
journey. He, too, apparently, had confidence in my sagacity. It was
touching, this confidence. It was at any rate more genuine than the
confidence his wife pretended to have in her husband's chess-player, of
three successive holidays. Confidence be hanged! Sagacity--indeed! She
had simply marched in without a shadow of misgiving to make me back her
up. But she had delivered herself into my hands . . . "
Interrupting his narrative Marlow addressed me in his tone between grim
jest and grim earnest:
"Perhaps you didn't know that my character is upon the whole rather
vindictive."
"No, I didn't know," I said with a grin.
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