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Many questions had arisen during those two months of Cornish's honorary secretary ship of the charity which he had been unable to answer, and which he had been obliged to refer to Roden and Von Holzen. These had replied readily, and the matter as solved by them seemed simple enough.
There seemed to be no reason for abandonment of hope, I urged upon him, and after a cigar or so I left him, evidently impressed with this view of the case, but nevertheless bitterly disappointed. It meant delay and danger to his hopes; and Jim was not a man to brook delay, or suffer danger to go unchallenged. I dared not tell him of Cornish's offer, and of its fate, so similar to his.
A second detachment was awaiting their orders at Hamburg. But the principal workers were these now placed under Cornish's care. During the days of their arrival, when they had to be met and housed and cared for, the visionary part of this great scheme had slowly faded before a somewhat grim reality. Joan Ferriby had found the malgamite workers less picturesque than she had anticipated.
William Penn, however, who stood near the gallows, and whose prejudice were all on the side of the government, afterwards said that he could see in Cornish's deportment nothing but the natural indignation of an innocent man slain under the forms of law. The head of the murdered magistrate was placed over the Guildhall.
"Tony," said her ladyship, "they have eaten all the sandwiches." And there was something in her voice, in her manner of touching Tony Cornish's arm with her fan that suggested in a far-off, cold way that this social butterfly had reached one of the still strings of her heart. Who knows?
Roden, who was smoking, threw his cigarette away. "You mean to do both these things?" "Both." Roden looked at him. He opened his lips to speak, but suddenly leapt back. "Look out!" he cried, and had barely time to point over Cornish's shoulder. Cornish swung round on his heel. He belonged to a school and generation which, with all its faults, has, at all events, the redeeming quality of courage.
His position in the matter was clearly enough defined, but he had no intention of explaining why it was that he ranged himself stolidly on Cornish's side in the differences that had arisen. Lord Ferriby was dimly conscious of a smouldering antagonism, but knew the major sufficiently well not to fear an outbreak of hostilities.
He worked in spite of her, but she pursued him none the less constantly; she had gone down the stairs to dinner with him; she floated before him throughout the torture of Miss Cornish's address; she was present even when he exploded and fled; she was with him now, in this desolate walk toward Talbot Potter's apartment the pale, symmetrical little face and the relentless sweet voice commandeering the attention he wanted desperately to keep upon what he meant to say to Potter.
Lord Ferriby leisurely withdrew his gloves and laid them on the inlaid bureau. He had the physique of a director of public companies, and the grave manner that impresses shareholders. He talked of the weather, drew Cornish's attention to a blot of ink on the high-art wallpaper, and then put on his gloves again, well pleased with himself and his morning's work.
"If you want me, send for me, or come to the hotel," were Cornish's last words, as he shut the successful financier into his brougham. At the hotel, Cornish found Mr. Wade and Marguerite lingering over a late breakfast. "You look," said Marguerite, "as if you had been up to something." She glanced at him shrewdly. "Have you smashed Roden's Corner?" she asked.
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