* * * * *

“I’m the only human being alive that ye’ve not hypnotized, Frank Ravenel!” Dermott cried, with a laugh, as the three of them sat at dinner at the Old Lodge the evening following this talk.  “The only person ye’ve ever known, probably, who did not fall under the charm of the ways and the eyes of you.”  There was flattery in this of such a subtle kind that Katrine looked quickly from one to the other, for with woman’s intuition she had long since felt the antagonism between them.

“Ye see,” Dermott went on, “I underrated the South when I came here.  You Southerners understand people as I think no other folk on earth understand them.  That’s your great strength,” he said, addressing himself entirely to Frank.  “Now, in a business matter I might, though I’m by no means sure of it, get the better of you.”  His eyes were bland and frank as he spoke.  “But where you would always have the advantage is in knowing the people you may trust.  It’s a great gift that.  The greatest knowledge of all is to know people, and it seems to be an instinct with you, Mr. Ravenel!”

Again Katrine looked from one to the other, mystified, as Francis sat smiling under this flattery.

“Shouldn’t there be accompanying laurel wreaths with this unsolicited testimonial, Mr. McDermott?” he inquired, with a laugh.

In a second Dermott took warning, left the subject, and was galloping over conversational fields furthest from compliments to Frank.

“About the trouble over your Senator here from North Carolina.  I’d a talk with the President concerning him, and it was mentioned, though hiddenly, that the White House does not want him returned.”

And later—­

“The pork bill!  Heavens!  I saw McClenahan in the Senate about it, and I said to him:  ’If ye stand for the pork bill, ye’ll not be returned to the Senate next year.  I’ll see to it myself.  I know your district.  God!  How I know it!  You can buy every vote in that part of the land of the free and home of the brave for ten dollars, or less—­and I’ve the money to do it.’  He didn’t vote for it.”  McDermott finished with a jolly laugh.

Again and again during the dinner he discussed his private affairs in this manner, deferring to Ravenel, flattering him by asking opinions on weighty subjects, listening to the answers with gloomy attentiveness, bewildering, fascinating, dominating, by a perfectly conscious use of every power he possessed.

At the mention of a coaching party which had passed Katrine’s house the day before, with Frank driving four-in-hand, he added a note of gayety to the dinner, returning at the same time to the game he was playing with Frank.

“I never see ye drive, Ravenel,” he cried, “but I think of the olden days.  Ye’ve a style all your own when you hold the lines.  Wait a minute!  Wait a minute!  I’m seized with rhyme.”  He stood silent, his eyes drawn together at the corners, his gaze concentrated, glass in hand, before he began with a hypnotic look and great lightness of bearing to recite, waiting every little while for the right word to come to him: