“Rather disagreeable all round, James.  But I trust you won’t let it worry you.  I always think a man must be worried when he lets his pipe go out.  There is no need to worry, and after all”—­he added smiling—­“you created a situation which might have been avoided.  No one would have known—­in a day or two we would have been talking to General Lee.  An excellent cigar, James.”

While his brother-in-law chatted lightly, apparently unconcerned, the Union officer was considering this way or that out of the toils woven of duty, affection and honour; but as he kept on seeking a mode of escape, he was also hearing and watching the man before him with attention which missed no word.  He was barely conscious that the younger man appeared enough at ease to dare to use language which the Federal officer felt to be meant to annoy.  A single word used by Grey stopped the Colonel’s mental mechanism as if a forceful brake had been applied.  The man before him had said carelessly, “We—­we would have been talking to General Lee.”  The word “we” repeated itself in his mind like an echo.  He too lightly despised Grey’s capacity as a spy, but he had said “we.”  There were, it seemed, others; how many?—­what had they done?  This terribly simplified the game.  To arrest Grey would or might be useless.  Who were his companions and where were they?  Once missing this confident Confederate they might escape.  To question Grey would be in vain.  To give him any hint that he had been imprudent would be to lose an advantage.  He was so intent on the question of how to carry out a decisive purpose that he missed for the moment Grey’s easy-minded talk, and then was suddenly aware that Grey was really amusing himself with a cat-and-mouse game.  But now he too was at ease and became quietly civil as he filled another pipe, and with an air of despair which altogether deceived Grey said, “I see that I can do nothing, Henry.  There is no reason to protract an unpleasant matter.”

“I supposed you would reach this very obvious conclusion.”  Then unable to resist a chance to annoy a man who had given him a needless half hour not free from unpleasant possibilities, Grey rose and remarked, smiling, “I hope when we occupy this town to meet you under more agreeable circumstances.”

“Sir,” said Penhallow, “the painful situation in which I am placed does not give you the freedom to insult me.”

The Confederate was quite unaware that the Colonel was becoming more and more a man to fear, “I beg pardon, James,” he said, “I was only anticipating history.”  As he spoke, he stood securing a neglected button of his neat uniform.  This act strangely exasperated the Colonel.  “I will see you out,” he said.  “The buttons of the Massachusetts Third might attract attention.”

“Oh, my cloak covers it,” and he threw it carelessly over his shoulders.

Penhallow said, “I have confessed defeat—­you may thank Ann Penhallow.”