which had just been served, because he wished for time to get his
bearings. He glanced at the menu as if idly interested, conscious that
he was under observation. He felt that he had, some how, the situation
in his hands. Everything had gone well, and he knew that his part had
been played with some aplomb--natural, instinctive. Unlike most large
men, he had a mind always alert, not requiring the inspiration of unusual
moments. What struck him most forcibly now was the tasteful courtesy
which had made his entrance easy. He instinctively compared it to the
courtesy in the lodge of an Indian chief, or of a Hudson's Bay factor who
has not seen the outer world for half a century. It was so different,
and yet it was much the same. He had seen a missionary, a layreader,
come intoxicated into a council of chiefs. The chiefs did not show that
they knew his condition till he forced them to do so. Then two of the
young men rose, suddenly pinned him in their arms, carried him out, and
tied him in a lodge. The next morning they sent him out of their
country. Gaston was no philosopher, but he could place a thing when he
saw it: which is a kind of genius.

Presently Sir William said quietly:

"Mrs. Gasgoyne, you knew Robert well; his son ought to know you."

Gaston turned to Mrs. Gasgoyne, and said in his father's manner as much
as possible, for now his mind ran back to how his father talked and
acted, forming a standard for him:

"My father once told me a tale of the Keithley Hunt--something 'away up,'
as they say in the West--and a Mrs. Warren Gasgoyne was in it."

He made an instant friend of Mrs. Gasgoyne--made her so purposely.