"You were within an ace of meeting one of the cleverest men
living, a cheerful being in whom the Foreign Office is more interested
than in any one else in the world." Wratislaw had never been in the
habit of talking without good authority. This Marker must be indeed a
gentleman of parts.
Then conversation dwindled. Lewis, his mind torn between bitter
memories and the pressing necessities of his mission, lent a stupid ear
to Mrs. Logan's mild complaints, her gossip about Bardur, her eager
questions about home. George manfully took his place, and by a
fortunate clumsiness steered the flow of the lady's talk from Glenavelin
and the Wisharts. Lewis spoke now and then, when appealed to, but he
was busy thinking out his own problem. On the morrow night he should
meet Marker, and his work would reveal itself. Meanwhile he was in the
dark, the flimsiest adventurer on the wildest of errands. This easy,
settled place, these Englishmen whose minds held fast by polo and games,
these English ladies who had no thought beyond little social devices to
relieve the monotony of the frontier, all seemed to make a mockery of
his task. He had fondly imagined himself going to a certainty of toil
and danger; to his vexation this certainty seemed to be changing into
the most conventional of visits to the most normal of places. But
to-morrow he should see Marker; and his hope revived at the prospect.
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