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In the meanwhile, Siward's new duties as second vice-president of Inter-County had given him scant leisure for open-air convalescence.
All he could do was to care the more for Siward without crossing the border line so suddenly made free; all he could do was to sit there rolling and unrolling his gloves into wads with his clumsy, highly coloured hands, and gaze consciously at everything in the room except Siward. On that day, at Plank's shy suggestion, they talked over Siward's business affairs for the first time.
Don't try to lick my face, for that is bad manners. Demonstrations are odious, as the poet says." "It's always bad manners, isn't it?" asked Miss Landis. "What? Being affectionate?" "Yes, and admitting it." "I believe it is. Do you hear that Sagamore? But never mind; I'll break the rules some day when we're alone." The dog laid one paw on Siward's knee, looking him wistfully in the eyes.
Her brother Gordon took it, and drank entirely too much. Then Sylvia lifted it, her white hands half buried among the orchids: "To you!" she murmured for Siward's ear alone; then drank gaily, mischievously, "To the best shot at Shotover!" And Siward took the cup: "I salute victory," he said, smiling, "always, and everywhere! To him who takes the fighting chance and wins out! To the best man!
"I'll bet you never heard him say so," returned Fleetwood. "You know Stephen Siward's way; he never said anything unpleasant about any man. I wish I didn't either, but I do. So do you. So do most men. Lord! I wish Siward were back here. He was a good deal of a man, after all, Tom."
They exchanged carefully impersonal views on Siward's good qualities for a moment or two; then Marion said bluntly: "Do you know anything in particular about that Patroons Club affair?" "No," said Sylvia, "nothing in particular." "Neither do I; and I don't care to; I mean, that I don't care what he did; and I wish that gossiping old Major would stop trying to hint it to me." "My uncle!" "Oh!
In the smiling lustre of her eyes the tiniest spark flashed out at him a hint of defiance for somebody, perhaps for Major Belwether who had taken considerable pains to enlighten her as to Siward's condition the night before; perhaps also for Quarrier, who had naturally expected to act as her gun-bearer in emergencies.
Mask your purpose, Steve; make a feint of camping out here under my guns; then suddenly fling your entire force up the Hudson and fortify yourself at Mulqueen's! Ho, that'll fix 'em! That's going to astonish the enemy!" His harsh, dry, crackling laughter broke out like the distant rattle of musketry. The ghost of a smile glimmered in Siward's haunted eyes, then faded as he leaned forward.
"Stephen, can't you make her a big, strong fellow like you? Oh, well; on your heads be it! My conscience is now clear for the first time, and I'll never meddle again." She gave Siward's hand a perfunctory pat and released him with a discreetly stifled yawn. "I'm disgracefully sleepy; the wind blew like fury along the coast. Sylvia, have you had a good time at Shotover the time of your life?"
Inside that house Plank faced a more awful tempest. There was a sedative on the mantel and he offered it to Siward, who struck it from his hand. Once, toward morning, Siward feigned sleep, and Plank, heavy head on his breast, feigned it, too. Then Siward bent over stealthily and opened a drawer in his desk; and Plank was on his feet like a flash, jerking the morphine from Siward's fingers.
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