In the absence of such a discussion, and
the prevision of his going to the show, you couldn't account for young
Craig's having caught the point instantly like that. And yet, what other
explanation could there be? There was none, and there was an end of it!
Only it wasn't the end of it. The straying search-light of his memory
picked up a moment during that last evening at the Williamsons'. The
Crawfords had been there, and somebody else--a man he didn't know; and
the stranger had said something, a harmless stupid remark enough, about
the tired business man and the sort of musical-comedy he liked;
whereupon both Constance and Violet had made a sort of concerted swoop
and changed the subject almost violently. John Williamson made a
practise of going to the Globe, he knew, but that John, who never
spotted an allusion in his life, should have come home and passed the
word along, and that all references to musical-comedy should therefore
be taboo on Rodney's account, was simply fantastic.
But the fantasticality of an idea seemed, in his mood to-night, merely
to give it the burr-like quality of sticking in his mind, holding on
there with a hundred tiny barbs, despite his endeavors to pluck it out.
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