A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. It might be dangerous to thwart him. He left his companion in the midst of a glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess as she moved from one group to join another. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols.
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