“Not quite,” said Bob Evers, dryly; “and we might as well, you know!”

“To be sure; but don’t mind if I go on shaving, and pray speak for yourself.”

“I will,” he rejoined.  “Do you remember our conversation the night you came?”

“More or less.”

“I mean when you and I were alone together, before we turned in.”

“Oh, yes.  I remember something about it.”

“It would be too silly to expect you to remember much,” he went on after a pause, with a more delicate irony than heretofore.  “But, as a matter of fact, I believe I said it was all rot that people talked about the impossibility of being mere pals with a woman, and all that sort of thing.”

“I believe you did.’”

“Well, then, that was rot.  That’s all.”

I turned round with my razor in mid-air,

“My dear fellow!” I exclaimed.

“Quite funny, isn’t it?” he laughed, but rather harshly, while his mountain bronze deepened under my scrutiny.

“You are not in earnest, Bob!” said I; and on the word his laughter ended, his colour went.

“I am,” he answered through his teeth. “Are you?”

Never was war carried more suddenly into the enemy’s country, or that enemy’s breath more completely taken away than mine.  What could I say?  “As much as you are, I should hope!” was what I ultimately said.

The lad stood raking me with a steady fire from his blue eyes.

“I mean to marry her,” he said, “if she will have me.”

There was no laughing at him.  Though barely twenty, as I knew, he was man enough for any age as we faced each other in my room, and a man who knew his own mind into the bargain.

“But, my dear Bob,” I ventured to remonstrate, “you are years too young—­”

“That’s my business.  I am in earnest.  What about you?”

I breathed again.

“My good fellow,” said I, “you are at perfect liberty to give yourself away to me, but you really mustn’t expect me to do quite the same for you.”

“I expect precious little, I can tell you!” the lad rejoined hotly.  “Not that it matters twopence so long as you are not misled by anything I said the other day.  I prefer to run straight with you—­you can run as you like with me.  I only didn’t want you to think that I was saying one thing and doing another.  As a matter of fact I meant all I said at the time, or thought I did, until you came along and made me look into myself rather more closely than I had done before.  I won’t say how you managed it.  You will probably see for yourself.  But I’m very much obliged to you, whatever happens.  And now that we understand each other there’s no more to be said, and I’ll clear out.”

There was, indeed, no more to be said, and I made no attempt to detain him; for I did see for myself, only too clearly and precisely, how I had managed to precipitate the very thing which I had come out from England expressly to prevent.