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He stood swaying and leering at Plank, repeating loudly: "In Quarrier's office! Understand? That's where you'll settle up! See?" Leila, white face quivering, shrank as though he had struck her, and he turned on her again, grinning: "As for you, you come home! And that'll be about all for yours." "Are you insane, to make a scene like this?" whispered Plank.
As they entered the restaurant, many eyes were turned with critical appreciation upon the modest face and figure, as undeniably English, in their way, as Quarrier's robust manhood. Denzil's French was indifferently good, better perhaps than his capacity for picking out from the bill of fare a little dinner which should exalt him in the eyes of waiters.
Has the Central Working Men's Club lost its cunning? The latest, but not the least important exhibition of Mr. Corbett's philanthropy to which we shall refer is his bequest of £2000 to Mr. William Quarrier, for the founding of a Home for Destitute and Orphan Children. To the results of Mr. Quarrier's scheme allusion has from time to time been made in the local prints.
She might bid him do his worst and so vanish with her chosen companion utterly beyond his reach. Again he thought of the Court-house. For it was too certain that the sight of him would inspire her only with horror. Should he not hold her up to infamy? If he did not, another would; Marks was plainly to be trusted; this day was the last of Mrs. Quarrier's grandeur.
Underneath all this show of civilization, refinement, brilliancy I'm glad to say you can't even guess what it covers. The town reeks with abominations. I'm getting sick of it." The sincerity of his moral disgust was obvious. No one knew so well as Lilian the essential purity even the puritanism of Quarrier's temper.
The least of his victims might now finish him with a club where he swayed in his loosened saddle, or leave him to that horseman on the pale horse watching him yonder on the horizon. For now, whether Harrington lived or died, he must be counted as nothing in this new struggle darkly outlining its initial strategy in Quarrier's brain.
Cards she managed to avoid after dinner, and stood by Quarrier's chair for half an hour, absently watching the relentless method and steady adherence to rule which characterised his Bridge-playing, the eager, unslaked brutality of Mortimer, the set, selfish face of his pretty wife, the chilled intensity of Miss Caithness.
The man he was afraid of had gone directly to Quarrier's office, missing the gentleman he was seeking by such a small fraction of a minute that he realised they must have passed each other in the elevators, he ascending while Quarrier was descending.
The colour had left his face, too, and in his eyes Leila saw for the first time an expression that she had never before surprised in any eyes except her husband's. It was the expression of fright; she recognised it. But Sylvia stared, unenlightened, at an altered visage she scarcely knew for Quarrier's.
"Oh, no," cackled his lordship; "I didn't draw it, old chap!" "Nor I! I only wish I could," added Captain Voucher. "Nor I nor I who did it?" ran the chorus along the table. "I didn't do it!" said Sylvia gravely, looking across at Quarrier. And suddenly Quarrier's large, handsome eyes met Siward's for the briefest fraction of a second, then were averted.
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