“I didn’t manage it,” said Hodder, briefly.

“Well,” replied the lawyer, quizzically, “you needn’t eat me up.  I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose.  If you had,—­to use a Hibernian phrase,—­you never would have done it.  I’ve seen it tried before.  To tell you the truth, after I’d come back from Bremerton, that was the one thing I was afraid of—­that you mightn’t get along with him.”

Hodder himself was at a loss to account for the relationship.  It troubled him vaguely, for Mr. Parr was the aggressor; and often at dusk, when Hodder was working under his study lamp, the telephone would ring, and on taking down the receiver he would hear the banker’s voice.  “I’m alone to-night, Mr. Hodder.  Will you come and have dinner with me?”

Had he known it, this was a different method of communication than that which the financier usually employed, one which should have flattered him.  If Wallis Plimpton, for instance, had received such a personal message, the fact would not have remained unknown the next day at his club.  Sometimes it was impossible for Hodder to go, and he said so; but he always went when he could.

The unwonted note of appeal (which the telephone seemed somehow to enhance) in Mr. Parr’s voice, never failed to find a response in the rector’s heart, and he would ponder over it as he walked across to Tower Street to take the electric car for the six-mile trip westward.

This note of appeal he inevitably contrasted with the dry, matter-of-fact reserve of his greeting at the great house, which loomed all the greater in the darkness.  Unsatisfactory, from many points of view, as these evenings were, they served to keep whetted Hodder’s curiosity as to the life of this extraordinary man.  All of its vaster significance for the world, its tremendous machinery, was out of his sight.

Mr. Parr seemed indeed to regard the rest of his fellow-creatures with the suspicion at which Langmaid had hinted, to look askance at the amenities people tentatively held out to him.  And the private watchman whom Hodder sometimes met in the darkness, and who invariably scrutinized pedestrians on Park Street, seemed symbolic, of this attitude.  On rare occasions, when in town, the financier dined out, limiting himself to a few houses.

Once in a long while he attended what are known as banquets, such as those given by the Chamber of Commerce, though he generally refused to speak.  Hodder, through Mr. Parr’s intervention, had gone to one of these, ably and breezily presided over by the versatile Mr. Plimpton.

Hodder felt not only curiosity and sympathy, but a vexing sense of the fruitlessness of his visits to Park Street.  Mr. Parr seemed to like to have him there.  And the very fact that the conversation rarely took any vital turn oddly contributed to the increasing permanence of the lien.  To venture on any topic relating to the affairs of the day were merely to summon forth the banker’s dogmatism, and Hodder’s own opinions on such matters were now in a strange and unsettled state.  Mr. Parr liked best to talk of his treasures, and of the circumstances during his trips abroad that had led to their acquirement.  Once the banker had asked him about parish house matters.