"And the extraordinary looking man on my right?" Honora asked. "I've got to talk to him presently."
"Chiltern!" he said. "Is it possible you haven't heard something about
Hugh Chiltern?"
"Is it such lamentable ignorance?" she asked.
"That depends upon one's point of view," he replied. "He's always been a sort of a—well, Viking," said Farwell.
Honora was struck by the appropriateness of the word.
"Viking—yes, he looks it exactly. I couldn't think. Tell me something about him."
"Well," he laughed, lowering his voice a little, here goes for a little rough and ready editing. One thing about Chiltern that's to be admired is that he's never cared a rap what people think. Of course, in a way, he never had to. His family own a section of the state, where they've had woollen mills for a hundred years, more or less. I believe Hugh Chiltern has sold 'em, or they've gone into a trust, or something, but the estate is still there, at Grenoble—one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. The General—this man's father—was a violent, dictatorial man. There is a story about his taking a battery at Gettysburg which is almost incredible. But he went back to Grenoble after the war, and became the typical public-spirited citizen; built up the mills which his own pioneer grandfather had founded, and all that. He married an aunt of Mrs. Grainger's,—one of those delicate, gentle women who never dare to call their soul their own."
"And then?" prompted Honora, with interest.
"It's only fair to Hugh," Farwell continued, "to take his early years into account. The General never understood him, and his mother died before he went off to school. Men who were at Harvard with him say he has a brilliant mind, but he spent most of his time across the Charles River breaking things. It was, probably, the energy the General got rid of at Gettysburg. What Hugh really needed was a war, and he had too much money. He has a curious literary streak, I'm told, and wrote a rather remarkable article—I've forgotten just where it appeared. He raced a yacht for a while in a dare-devil, fiendish way, as one might expect; and used to go off on cruises and not be heard of for months. At last he got engaged to Sally Harrington—Mrs. Freddy Maitland."
Honora glanced across the table.