into his--a rather dangerous
spark, which cleverer people than himself had found difficult to make
sure of. Then he laughed flatly.

"You can see how funny it is now----"

"I always did."

"--because you were so sure it would pan out--like this. How long is it?"

"About eight years."

"My word! Let's--let's look at one another and take stock."

Stonehouse sat back and bore the inspection with a faint smile. He knew
himself, and how he impressed others. The eight years had done a great
deal for him. His strength had cast its crudeness and had attained a
certain grace--the ease of absolute control and tried confidence in
itself. He still dressed badly--indifferently, rather--but his body had
toned down to the level of the fine hands, which he held loosely clasped
upon the table.

He looked at once very young and very fine drawn and, as Cosgrave
thought, a little cruel.

"You seem--awfully well and prosperous, Robert. And a sight better
looking."

Stonehouse laughed. All he said in reply was:

"And you look prosperous and ill. What was it? Enteric?"

Cosgrave shrugged his thin shoulders. He was still flamboyantly
red-headed and generously freckled, but now that the first flush of
excitement had ebbed, his face showed a parchment yellow. His eyes,
wistful in their setting, were faded, as though a relentless tropical sun
had drunk up their once vivid, boyish colouring.

"Oh yes, that and a few other trifles. I think I've housed most West
African bugs in my time. Everyone had them, but I was such poor pasture
that I got off better than most. Three of my superiors died of 'em, and
I stepped right into their shoes. It pays, you see, if you can hold out.
People like a fellow who isn't always clamouring to come home--and you
bet I never did. But, finally, I took an overdue leave and a hunk of
savings and trekked back. I'd always planned it--a good time, you
know--but somehow it hasn't come off. I expect I left it too long. In
the end I didn't really want to come at all--wanted to lie down and die,
but hadn't the strength of mind to insist. I'd been in London a week
before I wrote you--just drifting round--too weak-kneed to take the first
step. I tore up that idiotic note three times."

"Well, as long as you posted the fourth effort," Stonehouse said, "it's
all right."

They fell then unexpectedly into one of those difficult silences which
beset the road of friends who have been separated t