The touch of a hand roused Ned.  He looked up.  Mrs. Stratton had gone through the door concealed by the hangings.  Geisner stood before him, calmly lighting another cigarette with a match.  There was no trace of emotion on his face.  He turned to drop the match into an ash tray, then held out both hands, on his face the kindly smile that transfigured him.  Ned grasped them eagerly, wringing them in a grip that would have made most men wince.  They stood thus silently for a minute or two, looking at one another, the young, hot-tempered bushman, the grey-haired, cool-tempered leader of men; between them sprang up, as they stood, the bond of that friendship which death itself only strengthens.  The magnetism of the elder, his marvellous personality, the strength and majesty of the mighty soul that dwelt in his insignificant body, stole into Ned’s heart and conquered it.  And the spirit of the younger, his fierce indignation, his angry sorrow, his disregard for self, his truth, his strong manhood, appealed to the weary man as an echoing of his own passionate youth.  Then they loosened hands and without a word Geisner commenced to walk slowly backwards and forwards, his hands behind him, his head bent down.

Ned watched him, studying him feature by feature.  Yes, he had been handsome.  He was ugly only because of great wrinkles that scored his cheeks and disfigured the fleshless face and discoloured skin.  His eyebrows and eyelashes were very thin, too.  His hair looked dried up and was strongly greyed; it had once been almost black.  His lips were thin, his mouth shapeless, only because he had closed them in his fight against pain and anguish and despair and they had set thus by the habit of long years.  His nose was still fine and straight, the nostrils swelling wide.  His forehead was rugged and broad under its wrinkles.  His chin was square.  His frame still gave one the impression of tireless powers of endurance.  His blue eyes still gleamed unsubdued in their dark, overhanging caverns.  Yes!  He had lived, this man.  He had lived and suffered and kept his manhood still.  To be like him!  To follow him into the Valley of the Shadow!  To live only for the Cause and by his side to save the world alive!  Ned thought thus, as Connie came back, her face bathed and beaming again, her theatre dress replaced by a soft red dressing gown, belted loosely at the waist and trimmed with an abundance of coffee coloured lace.  Her first words were a conundrum to Ned: 

“Geisner!  Haven’t you dropped that unpleasant trick of yours after all these years?  Two long steps and a short step!  Turn!  Two long steps and a short stop!  Turn!  Now, just to please me, do three long steps.”

He smiled.  “Connie, you are becoming quite a termagant.”

She looked at Ned questioningly:  “Well?”

“Oh, Ned and I are beginning to understand one another,” said Geisner.

“Of course,” she replied.  “All good men and women are friends if they get to the bottom of each other.  Let us go on the verandah with the rest.  Do you know I feel quite warm now.  I do believe it was only that ridiculous dress which made me feel so cold.  Give me your arm, Ned.  Bring me along a chair, Geisner.”