“Do you mean to tell me that he was reciting poetry when—­”

“Well, it couldn’t have sounded worse if he had been, could it?”

Now he was openly laughing at the Captain’s angry bewilderment.  He knew that Alec Naylor did not believe a word of what he was saying or suggesting; but yet Alec could not pass his guard, nor wing a shaft between the joints of his harness.  If he got into difficulties through heedlessness, at least he made a good shot at getting out of them again by his dexterity.  Only, of course, suspicion remains suspicion, even though it be, for the moment, baffled.  And it could not be denied that suspicions were piling up—­Captain Alec, Irechester, even, on one little point, Doctor Mary!  And possibly those two fellows outside—­one of them short and stumpy—­had their suspicions too, though these might be directed to another point.  He gave one of his little shrugs as he followed the silent Captain to the garden gate.

“Good-night.  Thanks again.  And I hope we shall meet soon,” he said cheerily.

Alec gave him a brief “Good-night” and a particularly formal military salute.

CHAPTER IX

DOCTOR MARY’S ULTIMATUM

Even Captain Alec was not superior to the foibles which beset humanity.  If it had been his conception of duty which impelled him to take a high line with Beaumaroy, there was now in his feelings, although he did not realize the fact, an alloy of less precious metal.  He had demanded an ordeal, a test—­that he should see Mr. Saffron and judge for himself.  The test had been accepted; he had been worsted in it.  His suspicions were not laid to rest—­far from it; but they were left unjustified and unconfirmed.  He had nothing to go upon, nothing to show.  He had been baffled, and, moreover, bantered and almost openly ridiculed.  In fact, Beaumaroy had been too many for him, the subtle rogue!

This conception of the case colored his looks and pointed his words when Tower Cottage and its occupants were referred to, and most markedly when he spoke of them to Cynthia Walford; for in talking to her he naturally allowed himself greater freedom than he did with others; talking to her had become like talking to himself, so completely did she give him back what he bestowed on her, and re-echo to his mind its own voice.  Such perfect sympathy induces a free outpouring of inner thoughts, and reinforces the opinions of which it so unreservedly approves.

Cynthia did more than elicit and reinforce Captain Alec’s opinion; she also disseminated it—­at Old Place, at the Irechesters’, at Doctor Mary’s, through all the little circle in which she was now a constant and a favorite figure.  In the light of her experience of men, so limited and so sharply contrasted, she made a simple classification of them; they were Cransters or Alecs; and each class acted after its kind.  Plainly Beaumaroy was not an Alec; therefore he was Cranster, and Cranster-like actions were to be expected from him, of such special description as his circumstances and temptations might dictate.