"She is a woman of abundant vigor and appetites. She is a good
housewife and hostess, but those activities hardly take the edge off
her energies. She should have been mistress of a feudal domain. She
is a born tyrant, and grows fat on it. Her appetites, many of them
incapable of open satisfaction in our present society, nevertheless
find devious outlets. Servant girls of the Gunnisons have told stories,
but not often and then guardedly, for she is ruthless against those who
oppose her or threaten her security."
"And Mrs. Carr? That is, if she comes in this category."
"Little can be said of her. She is conventional, an indulgent ruler
of her husband, and enjoys being thought sweet and saintly. But I am
uncertain of her deeper motivations."
"It may be then, that she is not hostile?" He was remembering the
telephone call from Mrs. Carr just before he left for the East, when
she had seemed to be trying to check on the activities of Evelyn
Sawtelle.
"It may be. Yet at times I have been aware of her looking at me long
and strangely."
There was a knock. It was the porter come for the bags.
"Be in Hempnell in five minutes, sir. Shall I brush you in the
corridor?"
But Norman tipped him and declined the service. He also told him they
would carry their own bags. The porter smiled jerkily and backed out.
Norman crossed to the forward window. There was only the gravel wall
of a gully, and, above it, dark trees flashing indistinctly past. But
almost immediately the gravel wall gave way to a wide panorama, as the
tracks swung around and down the hillside.
There was more woodland than field in the valley. The trees seemed
to encroach on the town, dwarfing it. From this particular point it
looked quite tiny. But the college buildings stood out with a cold
distinctness. He fancied he could make out the window of his office.
Those cold gray towers and darker roofs were like an intrusion from
some other, older world, and his heart began to pound, as if he had
suddenly sighted the fortress of the enemy.