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.