“Why don't you smoke? Things look pleasanter through the blue haze of a good Havannah,” said Hunter, smiling.
“I don't want them to look pleasanter than they are,” was the dry rejoinder.
Whether Hunter did or did not, he scarcely liked his counsellor, and, re-lighting a cigar, he turned his back once more on him.
“I'm one of those old-fashioned fellows,” continued the Major, leaning over towards his companion, “who would rather see things as they are, not as they might be; and when I remarked you awhile ago so pleased with the elegant luncheon and Miss Polly's talents for housekeeping, I was laughing to myself over it all.”
“How do you mean? What did you laugh at?” said Hunter, half fiercely.
“Just at the way you were taken in, that's all.”
“Taken in?—taken in? A very strange expression for an hospitable reception and a most agreeable visit.”
“Well, it's the very word for it, after all; for as to the hospitable reception, it was n't meant for us, but for that tall Captain,—the dark-complexioned fellow,—Staples, I think they call him.”
“Captain Stapylton?”
“Yes, that's the man. He ordered Healey's car to take him over here; and I knew when the Dills sent over to Mrs. Brierley for a loan of the two cut decanters and the silver cruet-stand, something was up; and so I strolled down, by way of—to reconnoitre the premises, and see what old Dill was after.”