He had not realized till now how great had been that vague dread in his heart. Marie might care for Feathers, but at that moment Chris was sure that Feathers cared nothing for her—perhaps because he wished to be sure. Feathers was scraping out the bowl of his pipe with an irritating little sound and finished it carefully before he spoke:
"I'm not much of a judge of that sort of thing, but I should not think it at all likely. Mrs. Lawless does not know many people, does she?"
"If you mean men—as far as I know there is only Atkins and—you."
Feathers looked up. There was a little wry smile in his eyes.
"You are hardly flattering to your wife," he said quietly, "if you think that either Atkins or myself could make an impression where you have failed."
Chris laughed awkwardly.
"I never was a suspicious chap," he said. "I hate suspicious people, but since I came home, well . . ." He turned and looked Feathers squarely in the eyes. "I've thought all sorts of queer things—things I would even hesitate to tell you," he added deliberately.
Feathers laughed casually.
"I don't want your confidences, my son," he said. "You started this conversation, you know, and I didn't offer my advice, but as we're on the subject I should just like to remind you that Mrs. Lawless is very young, little more than a child, and—children like 218 attention and amusement."
Chris colored.