Rendall who conversed with the
innocent-looking Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse. On the face of it this was
obviously to be explained by his suspicions of the stranger. But of what
did he suspect him? Of being a German spy, as he professed? Or of being
what he was? That was the whole point, and it seemed to me that getting
him arrested and removed was equally consistent with either alternative.
But what of his daughter, that slim, dangerously dainty piece of mystery?
Were her two changes of attitude in the course of this afternoon mere
mirages seen by an eye disordered by suspicion? They might be, but Mr.
Hobhouse was prepared to stake his davy that they were real. And what
then did they imply? Surely not that she suspected the truth. He could
not read them into that. That she was simply a coquette and for want of
more amusing game (such for instance as Mr. O'Brien) was prepared to have
a little flirtation with his successor? This was, somehow or other, not a
very agreeable solution, but I began to suspect it might be the true one.
In any case she was a puzzling factor, and the best course of action
seemed to me to be to avoid her society in the meanwhile, and to keep my
eyes wide open for possible trouble. I hardly thought there would be
trouble, but it were well to be on the lookout.
This being decided, the amiable Mr.
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