Every now and then throughout the dinner he would say, “Oh, that reminds me!” and then tell something that happened when he was at such-and-such a place, when so-and-so “of our regiment” was out tiger-shooting, or pig-sticking, or whatever the sport might be. “And if Mr. Raymount will take a glass of wine with me, I will tell him the story,” he would say, for he was constantly drinking wine, after the old fashion, with this or that one of the company.

When he and Vavasor were introduced to each other, he glanced at him, drew his eyebrows together, made his military bow, and included him among the listeners to his tales of exploit and adventure by sea and land.

Vavasor was much annoyed by his presence. So while he retained the blandest expression and was ready to drink as many glasses of wine with the newcomer as he wished, he set him down in his own mind not only as an ill-bred man and a boaster, in which there was some truth, but as a liar and a vulgar-minded man as well, in which there was little or no truth.

Now, although major Marvel had not much ordinary insight into character because of his inability to feel a deep enough interest in his neighbour, if his suspicion or dislike was roused, he was just as likely as anyone to arrive at a correct judgment concerning a man he did not love.

He had been relating a thrilling adventure with a man-eating tiger. He saw, as they listened, the eyes of little Mark and Saffy almost surpassing the use of eyes and becoming ears as well. He saw Hester also, who was still child enough to prefer a story of adventure to a love tale, sitting entranced as if her hair would stand on end. But at one moment he caught also a certain expression on the face of Vavasor, which that experienced man of the world certainly never intended to be seen, only at the moment he was annoyed to see Hester’s attentiveness—she seemed to have eyes for no one but the man who shot tigers as Vavasor would have shot grouse.

The major, who, upon fitting occasion, could be as quarrelsome as any turkey cock, said, but not quite so carelessly as he had intended:

“Ha, ha, I see by your eyes, Mr. Passover, you think I’m drawing the long bow—drawing the arrow to the head, eh?”

“No, upon my word!” said Vavasor earnestly. “Nothing was further from my thoughts. I was only admiring the coolness of the man who would actually creep into the mouth of the—the jungle after a—what-do-you-call-him?—a man-eating tiger.”