the door.

"But I talk--how I talk! You bear with me, Christopher, because I must
go on, you know. It means nothing--absolutely nothing. But they will
have arrived now, so down we go. I go on in my sleep, exactly the same.
And now tea--and I will talk less because Breton talks a great deal and
so does Arkwright, and so do you...."

II

Arkwright came, and after a little, Breton. But the meeting was not a
success. Arkwright had heard a good deal about Breton's reputation, and
although, on the whole, he was tolerant of any backsliding in women, he
made what he called his liking for "clean men" an excuse for much
narrow-mindedness.

It is quite a mistake to suppose that living in solitude and danger
makes a human being tolerant. It has the precisely opposite effect.
Arkwright was more frightened of a man who was not "quite right with
society" than of any number of enraged natives. With natives one knew
where one was. Whereas with a man like this ...

Breton, anxious to please, made the mistake of showing his anxiety.
Seeing an enemy round every corner he was a little theatrical, too
demonstrative, too foreign. Arkwright disliked his beard and the
movement of his hands. "He wouldn't have come, had he known...."

Breton had, of course, at once perceived this man's hostility. Returning
to England had involved, as he had known that it must, a life of
battles, skirmishes, retreats, wounds, and every kind of hostility.
People did not forget and even had they desired to do so, his
relationship family history prevented Breton's oblivion.

He was ready for discourtesy, however eager he may have been for
friendship. But what the Devil, he thought, is this fellow doing here at
all? If Brun brought him in he must have told him just whom he was to
meet, and if he came with that knowledge about him, why then should he
not behave like a gentleman? Breton's half timid advance towards
friendliness now yielded to curt hostility.

Brun maintained his silence and only watched the two men with an
amusement just concealed. Conversation at last ceased and the heat beat,
in waves, through the open windows and the air seemed now to be
stiffened into bronze. Beyond the room all the city lay waiting for the
cool of the evening.

Christopher liked Arkwright and Arkwright liked Christopher.

Christopher had read one of Arkwright's books and spoke of it with
praise and also intelligence, and nothing goes to an author's heart like
intelli