In the silence, while they smoked, he noted the
perfect taste that marked Armitage's belongings, which to him meant more,
perhaps, than the steadiness of the man's eyes or the fine lines of his
face. Unconsciously Claiborne found himself watching Armitage's strong
ringless hands, and he knew that such a hand, well kept though it
appeared, had known hard work, and that the long supple fingers were such
as might guide a tiller fearlessly or set a flag daringly upon a
fire-swept parapet.
Armitage was thinking rapidly of something he had suddenly resolved to
say to Captain Claiborne. He knew that the Claibornes were a family of
distinction; the father was an American diplomat and lawyer of wide
reputation; the family stood for the best of which America is capable,
and they were homeward bound to the American capital where their social
position and the father's fame made them conspicuous.
Armitage put down his cigar and bent toward Claiborne, speaking with
quiet directness.
"Captain Claiborne, I was introduced to you at Geneva by Mr. Singleton.
You may have observed me several times previously at Venice, Borne,
Florence, Paris, Berlin.
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