“How d’you do? Had heard you were knocking about down our way. Wife well?”
Colonel Larter’s glance had passed the figure in black, and had fixed itself on the Carmagees and Catherine. There is always some charm about a handsome woman that can command courtesy, and Colonel Larter walked round Murchison with the sang-froid of a superior person, and ignored the husband in appearing impressive to the wife.
“How d’you do, Mrs. Murchison? Back in Roxton? Miss Carmagee has been keeping secrets from us. Quite a crime, I’m sure.”
Catherine had seen the slighting of her husband.
“We are back again, Colonel Larter.”
“That’s good. To stay?” and he nodded affably to the lawyer.
“Yes, to stay.”
“And the piccaninnies? Hallo, here’s one of them! And where’s my little flirt? What! Left her behind?”
Colonel Larter had one of those high-pitched, patronizing voices that carry a goodly distance and allow casual listeners to benefit by their remarks. Yet even his obtuse conceit was struck by Catherine Murchison’s manner. A sudden sense of distance and discomfort obtruded itself upon the gentleman’s consciousness. He caught Porteus Carmagee’s brown, birdlike eye, and the glint thereof was curiously disconcerting.
“Expect you’re busy. My wife’s waiting for me; mustn’t delay,” and he withdrew with a jerk of his peaked cap, repassing Murchison with an oblivious serenity, and rejoining his wife, who had acknowledged the presence of acquaintances by a single inclination of the head.