ing unusual in Borrowdean's
voice, a portent of things behind. Mannering involuntarily straightened
himself. Something was awakened in him which had lain dormant for many
years--dormant since those old days of battle, of swift attack, of
ambushed defence and the clamour of brilliant tongues. Some of the old
light flashed in his eyes.

"Say it then--quickly!"

"We speak of great things," Borrowdean continued, "and the catching of a
train is a trifle. My wardrobe and house are at your service. Don't hurry
me!"

Mannering smiled.

"Go on!" he said.

"The men who count in this world," Borrowdean declared, calmly lighting
a cigarette, "are either thinkers of great thoughts or doers of great
deeds. To the former belong the poets and the sentimentalists; to the
latter the statesmen and the soldiers."

"What have I done," Mannering murmured, "that I should be sent back to
kindergarten? Platitudes such as this bore me. Let me catch my train."

"In a moment. To all my arguments and appeals, to all my entreaties to
you to realize yourself, to do your duty to us, to history and to
posterity, you have replied in one manner only. You have spoken from the
mushroom pedestal of the sentimentalist. Not a single word that has
fallen from your lips has rung true. You have spoken as though your eyes
were blind all the time to the letters of fire which truth has spelled
out before you. Any further argument with you is useless, because you are
not honest. You conceal your true position, and you adopt a false
defence. Therefore, I relinquish my task. You can go and grow your roses,
and think your poetry, and call it life if you will. But before you go I
should like you to know that I, at least, am not deceived. I do not
believe in you, Mannering. I ask you a question, and I challenge you to
answer it. What is your true reason for making a scrap-heap of your
career?"

"Are you my friend," Mannering asked, quietly, "that you wish to pry
behind the curtain of my life? If I have other reasons they concern
myself alone."

Borrowdean shook his head. He had scored, but he took care to show no
sign of triumph.

"The issue is too great," he said, "to be tried by the ordinary rules
which govern social life. Will you presume that I am your friend, and let
us consider the whole matter afresh together?"

"I will not," Mannering answered. "But I will do this. I will answer your
question. There is another reason which makes my reappearance in