Vansittart's eyes.
"The scoundrels!" she muttered. "The scoundrels! Why does not Tony
act?"
But Tony Cornish, who alone knew the full extent of Von Holzen's
determination not to be frustrated, could not act--for Dorothy's sake.
A string of the quiet grey carts passed up Park Straat when the party
assembled there had risen from the luncheon-table. Mrs. Vansittart and
Mr. Wade were standing together at the window, which was large even in
this city of large and spotless windows. Dorothy and Cornish were
talking together at the other end of the room, and Marguerite was
supposed to be looking at a book of photographs.
"There goes a consignment of men's lives," said Mrs. Vansittart to her
companion.
"A human life, madam," answered the banker, "like all else on earth,
varies much in value." For Mr. Wade belonged to that class of
Englishmen which has a horror of all sentiment, and takes care to cloak
its good actions by the assumption of an unworthy motive. And who shall
say that this man of business was wrong in his statement? Which of us
has not a few friends and relations who can only have been created as a
solemn warning?
As Mrs. Vansittart and Mr. Wade stood at the window, Marguerite joined
them, slipping her hand within her father's arm with that air of
protection which she usually assumed towards him. She was gay and
lively, as she ever was, and Mrs. Vansittart glanced at her more than
once with a sort of envy.
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