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Updated: May 29, 2025
Vendenning was laughing; so was Rena Bonnesdel looking over Quarrier's shoulder at a card he was holding not one of the "hand"-decorated, but a sheet of note-paper containing a drawing of a man rushing after a gun-shy dog.
And, as he began speaking, Quarrier's face flushed, then the features became immobile, set, and inert, and his eyes grew duller and duller, as though, under a smooth surface the soul inside of him was shrinking back into some dark corner, silent, watchful, suspicious, and perhaps defiant. "Mr. Quarrier," said Siward quietly, "I did not take that girl to the Patroons Club and you know it."
Somebody once said that I had one nerve in me somewhere, and Quarrier's probably found it; that's all." "If you think it better not to come " "I'll come. I'll stop for you in the motor. Don't worry, old fellow! And take your fighting chance! Good-bye!"
The public proceedings had brought to light nothing whatever that seemed in conflict with medical evidence and the finding of the coroner's jury. One dangerous witness had necessarily come forward Mrs. Wade's servant; but the girl made no kind of allusion to Northway's visit didn't, in her own mind, connect it with Mrs. Quarrier's behaviour.
He would not for anything on earth have talked freely to the woman destined to be Quarrier's wife. He had talked too much anyway. Something in her, something about her had loosened his tongue. He had made a plain ass of himself that was all, a garrulous ass.
For how long, she had no idea. A little rain fell, and afterwards the sky showed signs of clearing; stars were again visible here and there. She had sunk into a half-unconscious state, when Quarrier's voice spoke to her. "You must go home," he said, hoarsely. "It's over." She started up. "Have they found" "Yes. Go home at once." He turned away, and she hurried from the spot with bowed head.
And I have an idea that we are going to stand on our own legs again, and recover our self-respect and our fighting capacity; and I rather think we'll stop this hold-up business, and that our Inter-County friend will let go the sand-bag and pocket the jimmy, and talk business across the line-fence." Quarrier's characteristic pallor was no index to his feelings, nor was his icy reticence.
"How would it be possible to vote for a man who has outraged the law on which all social life is based? He would retire immediately no doubt." Regarding this event as certain in any case, the listener merely nodded. "That, I dare say, doesn't interest you?" "I take no part in politics." "And it is quite a matter of indifference to you whether Mr. Quarrier's career is ruined or not?"
And she could not reconcile this with his appearance. However, the train of unlinked ideas which she pursued began to form the semblance of a chain. Coupling his name with Quarrier's, and with a club, aroused memory; vague uneasiness stirred her to a glimmering comprehension. Siward? Stephen Siward? One of the New York Siwards then; one of that race
Ferrall is Quarrier's cousin; and there's Belwether in it, and Quarrier is engaged to marry Sylvia Landis, who is Belwether's niece. It's a scrap with Harrington's crowd, and the wheels inside of wheels are like Chinese boxes. Who knows what it means? Only it's plain that Amalgamated is safe, if Quarrier wants it to be. And unless he does he's crazy."
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