‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. She became angry with herself. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. If anyone noticed, he did not report the event.
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