Joan herself knew that he was trying to please her, and she was asking herself how long he would have the courage and presumption to keep it up. He could scarcely be enjoying it.
He was not enjoying it, but he kept it up. He wanted to be friends with her for more reasons than one. No one had ever remained long at enmity with him. He had “got over” a good many people in the course of his career. This had always been accomplished because he presented no surface at which arrows could be thrown. She was the hardest proposition he had ever come up against, he was thinking; but if he didn’t let himself be fool enough to break loose and get mad, she’d not hate him so much after a while. She would begin to understand that it wasn’t his fault; then perhaps he could get her to make friends. In fact, if she had been able to read his thoughts, there is no certainty as to how far her temper might have carried her. But she could see him only as a sharp-faced, common American of the shop-boy class, sitting at the head of Jem Temple Barholm’s table, in his chair.
As they passed through the hall to go to the drawing-room after the meal was over, she saw a neat, pale young man speaking to Burrill and heard a few of his rather anxiously uttered words.
“The orders were that he was always to be told when Mr. Strangeways was like this, under all circumstances. I can’t quiet him, Mr. Burrill. He says he must see him at once.”
When the message was delivered to him, Tembarom excused himself with simple lack of ceremony. “I’ll be back directly,” he said to Palliser. “Those are good cigars.” He left the room at once.
Palliser took one of the good cigars, and in taking it exchanged a glance with Burrill which distantly conveyed the meaning that perhaps he had better remain for a moment or so. Captain Palliser’s knowledge of interesting detail was obtained “by chance here and there,” but always with a light and casual air.
“I am not sure,” he remarked as he took the light Burrill held for him and touched the end of his cigar—“I am not quite sure that I know exactly who Mr. Strangeways is.”
“He’s the gentleman, sir, that Mr. Temple Barholm brought over from New York,” replied Burrill with a stolidity clearly expressive of distaste.
“Indeed, from New York! Why doesn’t one see him?”
“He’s not in a condition to see people, sir,” said Burrill, and Palliser’s slightly lifted eyebrow seeming to express a good deal, he added a sentence, “He’s not all there, sir.”