"If you want
any whiskey, rap twice on the floor with your foot. The servants
understand."
"Precisely," said Feversham. He continued, carefully weighing his words,
and still intently looking across the shoulders of his companions to his
friend:--
"Besides, there is Ethne herself. Dermod for once did an appropriate
thing when he gave her that name. For she is of her country, and more,
of her county. She has the love of it in her bones. I do not think that
she could be quite happy in India, or indeed in any place which was not
within reach of Donegal, the smell of its peat, its streams, and the
brown friendliness of its hills. One has to consider that."
He waited for an answer, and getting none went on again. Durrance,
however, had no thought of reproach in his mind. He knew that Feversham
was speaking,--he wished very much that he would continue to speak for a
little while,--but he paid no heed to what was said. He stood looking
steadfastly out of the windows. Over against him was the glare from Pall
Mall striking upward to the sky, and the chains of light banked one
above the other as the town rose northward, and a rumble as of a million
carriages was in his ears.
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