ark in the porch. It might have been at a trespassing
bumble-bee however. That animal was capable of any eccentricity. Fyne
got up quickly and went out to him. I think he was glad to leave us
alone to discuss that matter of his journey to London. A sort of
anti-sentimental journey. He, too, apparently, had confidence in my
sagacity. It was touching, this confidence. It was at any rate more
genuine than the confidence his wife pretended to have in her husband's
chess-player, of three successive holidays. Confidence be hanged!
Sagacity--indeed! She had simply marched in without a shadow of
misgiving to make me back her up. But she had delivered herself into my
hands..."

Interrupting his narrative Marlow addressed me in his tone between grim
jest and grim earnest:

"Perhaps you didn't know that my character is upon the whole rather
vindictive."

"No, I didn't know," I said with a grin. "That's rather unusual for a
sailor. They always seemed to me the least vindictive body of men in
the world."

"H'm! Simple souls," Marlow muttered moodily. "Want of opportunity.
The world leaves them alone for the most part. For myself it's towards
women that I feel vindictive mostly, in my small way. I admit that it
is small. But then the occasions in themselves are not great. Mainly.
I resent that pretence of winding us round their dear little fingers, as
of right. Not that the result ever amounts to much generally. There
are so very few momentous opportunities. It is the assumption that each
of us is a combination of a kid and an imbecile which I find provoking--
in a small way; in a very small way. You needn't stare as though I were
breathing fire and smoke out of my nostrils. I am not a women-devouring
monster. I am not even what is technically called `a brute.' I hope
there's enough of a kid and an imbecile in me to answer the requirements
of some really good woman eventually--some day... Some day. Why do you
gasp? You don't suppose I should be afraid of getting married? That
supposition would be offensive..."

"I wouldn't dream of offending you," I said.

"Very well. But meantime please remember that I was not married to Mrs
Fyne. That lady's little finger was none of my legal property. I had
not run off with it. It was Fyne who had done that thing. Let him be
wound round as much as his backbone could stand--or even more, for all I
cared. His rushing away from the discussion on the transpar