his eyes dilated, utterly black, to the eyes of the other man, and
an arch little smile flickered on his face.

"I think it would matter very much indeed," said the landlady. "They had
far better NOT govern themselves."

She was, for some reason, becoming angry. The little greenish doctor
emptied his glass, and smiled again.

"But what difference does it make," said Aaron Sisson, "whether they
govern themselves or not? They only live till they die, either way." And
he smiled faintly. He had not really listened to the doctor. The terms
"British Government," and "bad for the people--good for the people,"
made him malevolently angry.

The doctor was nonplussed for a moment. Then he gathered himself
together.

"It matters," he said; "it matters.--People should always be responsible
for themselves. How can any people be responsible for another race
of people, and for a race much older than they are, and not at all
children."

Aaron Sisson watched the other's dark face, with its utterly exposed
eyes. He was in a state of semi-intoxicated anger and clairvoyance. He
saw in the black, void, glistening eyes of the oriental only the same
danger, the same menace that he saw in the landlady. Fair, wise, even
benevolent words: always the human good speaking, and always underneath,
something hateful, something detestable and murderous. Wise speech
and good intentions--they were invariably maggoty with these secret
inclinations to destroy the man in the man. Whenever he heard anyone
holding forth: the landlady, this doctor, the spokesman on the pit
bank: or when he read the all-righteous newspaper; his soul curdled with
revulsion as from something foul. Even the infernal love and good-will
of his wife. To hell with good-will! It was more hateful than ill-will.
Self-righteous bullying, like poison gas!

The landlady looked at the clock.

"Ten minutes to, gentlemen," she said coldly. For she too knew that
Aaron was spoiled for her for that night.

The men began to take their leave, shakily. The little doctor seemed
to evaporate. The landlady helped Aaron on with his coat. She saw the
curious whiteness round his nostrils and his eyes, the fixed hellish
look on his face.

"You'll eat a mince-pie in the kitchen with us, for luck?" she said to
him, detaining him till last.

But he turned laughing to her.

"Nay," he said, "I must be getting home."

He turned and went straight out of the house. Watching him, the
landlady's f