Gilbert Penny smote his hands on the chair arms. "This hectoring of our
commerce will have to rest somewhere!" he declared; "taking the duty
from pig iron, and then restricting its market to London, is no
conspicuous improvement. It is those enactments that provide our
currency with Spanish pieces instead of English pounds. The West Indies
are too convenient to be overlooked." Mr. Winscombe replied stiffly,
"The Government is prepared to meet infractions of its law." Mr. Penny
muttered a period about Germany in England, with a more distant echo of
Hanoverian whores and deformed firebrands. His guest sat with a harsh,
implacable countenance framed in the long shadows of his elaborate wig,
his ornate coat tails falling stiffly on either side of his chair.

Howat, bred in the comparative simplicity of the Province, found the
foppery of the aging man slightly ridiculous; yet he was aware that Mr.
Winscombe's essential character had no expression in his satin and
powder; his will was as rugged and virile as that of any adventuring
frontiersman clad in untanned hides. He was, Howat decided, at little
disadvantage with his young wife. He wondered if any deep bond bound the
two. Their personal feelings were carefully concealed, and in this they
resembled Isabel Howat, rather than Gilbert, her husband. The latter had
a habit of expressing publicly his affectionate domestic relations. And
Howat Penny decided that he vastly preferred the others' reserve.

An awkward silence had developed on top of the brief political
acerbities. There was no sound but the singing of the wood in the open
stove. Myrtle had an absent, speculative gaze; Caroline was biting her
lip; Mrs. Winscombe yawned in the face of the assembly. Gilbert Penny
suggested cards, but there was no reply. Howat left the room by a door
that opened on a rock threshold set in the lawn. The night was
immaculate, still and cold, with stars brightening in the advance of