r. He thought for a moment
that it was Honduras at his own car; then he recognized the stroke of a
far heavier engine. The powerful, ungraceful bulk of an English machine
was stopping at his door. Immediately after he distinguished the
slightly harsh, dominating voice of Peter Provost. The latter entered,
followed by Kingsfrere Jannan. Peter Provost, a member of the New York
family and connection of the Jannans, had, since the elder Jannan's
death, charge of the family's interest in the banking firm of Provost,
Jannan and Provost. He occupied, Howat knew, a position of general
advisor to Charlotte and her children. He was a large man who had never
lost the hardness of a famous university career in the football field,
with a handsome, cold countenance and spiked, grey moustache. He shook
hands with Howat Penny, and plunged directly into his present purpose.

"Kingsfrere," he said, "has heard some cheap stuff in the city,
principally about that young Polder married last fall. Personally, I
laughed at it, but Charlotte seemed upset. This Polder's wife, an
actress, has left her husband, and gone back to the stage because--so
Byron asserted; you know Byron--Mariana had broken up their home."

"Old Polder said just that," Kingsfrere affirmed. "And that wasn't
all--he added that Mariana was out here with the fellow."

Provost laughed.

"Well," Howat Penny replied, "James Polder is staying at Shadrach. He
was asked here because his health was threatening. He had two weeks
leave; and, although I wasn't really anxious, I said he might recuperate
with me."

"And Mariana?" Provost inquired.

"Came out day before yesterday, late; leaving this morning."

Howat Penny was conscious of a growing anger. There was no reason for
his submitting to an interrogation by Peter Provost; he didn't have to
justify his actions, the selection of his guests; and he had no
intention of explaining his attitude toward Mariana. But Provost, it
became evident, had no inclination to be intrusive. It was, he made that
clear, wholly Charlotte. But Kingsfrere Jannan was increasingly
impatient. "Where is Polder?" he demanded. Howat surveyed him with
neither favour nor reply. Suddenly he understood the feeling of both
men--they considered that he was too old to have any grip or
comprehension of life. They were quietly but obviously relegating him to
the back of the scene. His anger mounted; he was about to make a sharp
reply, when he paused. There was a