There was a sly gleam in Mrs. Agar's eyes. A close observer knowing her
well could have seen the cunning written on her face, for it was cheap
and obvious.
"Oh!" she said indifferently, "and what sort of man was he?"
Arthur pondered with a deliberation that almost maddened her.
"Oh!" he replied at length, "a small man, dark, with a sunburnt face; a
Jew, I should think. He was rather well dressed--in the military style,
of course."
"Yes," muttered Mrs. Agar. "Yes."
There was a long silence, during which Mrs. Agar reflected, as deeply,
perhaps, as she had ever reflected in her life.
Then she discovered something for herself which had of necessity been
pointed out to her son--a subtle divergence of character.
"But," she said, "of course Jem may never come back from this expedition.
It _must_ be very dangerous."
"It is very dangerous."
Mrs. Agar's sigh of relief was quite audible. It is thus that nature
sometimes betrays human nature.
"Did _he_ say that? Did _he_ think that of it?"
Seymour Michael's opinion still had value in her eyes.
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