wary-looking eyes. Even at that moment of splendid triumph, Peter was
annoyed to recognize in him the man Higginson, of whose too friendly
interest in the candidate's doings he had complained to Varney a few
hours earlier. Whether he was, in truth, the man who had followed them
on the street the night before, he was not ready to make affidavit. But
undoubtedly there was something furtive in the man's appearance and
manner; and Peter, watching him from the door, was highly irritated to
see Hare present the fellow to Miss Carstairs, who smiled on him as upon
one of her friend's good friends.
"The sneak!" thought Peter. "I'll just drop him a quiet hint to butt out
before he gets hurt."
But his "head-usher" due to vanish back to New York by the
ten-forty-five claimed him just then for a business talk, and when Peter
had time to think of Mr. Higginson again, he found that the man had
disappeared.
CHAPTER X
THE EDITOR OF THE GAZETTE PLAYS A CARD FROM HIS SLEEVE
Varney slept badly. The night was long, like art and the lanes that have
no turning; and interludes punctuated it, now and again, when he lay
wide-eyed in his bunk, staring into the darkness. At these times without
exception, he thought how, early in the morning, he would climb the hill
to the white house, blandly proffering letters to show that he was no
cad, no cur, but Laurence Varney, whom ladies need not flee from as from
the plague; suavely putting Uncle Elbert's daughter so utterly in the
wrong that he himself would grow merciful towards her abashment, and
sorry.
He fell asleep, woke again, rehearsed once more what he would say to
her. At last he saw the dawn break along the horizon and the gray of a
new day meet and mingle with the receding darkness. It was Wednesday.
To-morrow would be Thursday, and he could go away, his business done.
The prospect was rich recompense for everything. It came to him,
suddenly and for the first time, that he hated his mission in Hunston
with a disheartening and sickening hatred. And formulating this thought,
|