The old Tory favored George with an elaborate wink, which not only expressed delight, but spoke of what he considered the secret understanding between them.
“I dare say,” remarked he, “that we of the king’s side have as bad said of us—or worse.”
As the meal progressed, the wind and rain did not abate; the thunder rattled and rolled; the lightning glared against the sky. The merchant had placed Peggy just opposite George, and the lad made the best of the opportunity. But the girl was silent. The best he could draw from her was a “Yes” or a “No”; and all the time her face was cold; her eyes, when he caught them, were judging him cruelly.
“What has become of Herbert?” asked Captain Henderson, after a time. “I haven’t seen him for weeks.”
The old merchant scowled down at his plate.
“It is difficult to keep track of that young man,” said he.
“A great pity that he left the army,” observed the dragoon. “Especially at this time.”
“It altogether depends upon the point of view,” replied the Tory host. “But, that aside, hide nor hair of him I have not seen for some time. I don’t,” with displeasure, “even attempt to understand him.”
“To understand people is one of the most difficult tasks a person can set himself,” said George. As he spoke, his eyes met those of Peggy. “But for all that,” he went on, “there are those whose judgments of others are made offhand.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” answered Mr. Camp.