“You’re not feeling very well, sir?” he continued, with a fine assumption of affability.  “I am so sorry.  As for me, I like a little movement of the boat.  You know our proverb?  Weeds don’t spoil.  I’m alluding to myself, of course!”

Weeds don’t spoil. . . .

Yes, he was a weed.  Mr. Heard had not taken kindly to him; he hoped they would not see too much of each other on Nepenthe, which he understood to be rather a small place.  A few words of civility over the table d’hote had led to an exchange of cards—­a continental custom which Mr. Heard always resented.  It could not easily be avoided in the present case.  They had talked of Nepenthe, or rather Mr. Muhlen had talked; the bishop, as usual, preferring to listen and to learn.  Like himself, Mr. Muhlen had never before set foot on the place.  To be sure, he had visited other Mediterranean islands; he knew Sicily fairly well and had once spent a pleasant fortnight on Capri.  But Nepenthe was different.  The proximity to Africa, you know; the volcanic soil.  Oh yes!  It was obviously quite another sort of island.  Business?  No!  He was not bound on any errand of business; not on any errand at all.  Just a little pleasure trip.  One owes something to one’s self:  N’EST-CE-Pas?  And this early summer was certainly the best time for travelling.  One could count on good weather; one could sleep in the afternoon, if the heat were excessive.  He had telegraphed for a couple of rooms in what was described as the best hotel—­he hoped the visitors staying there would be to his liking.  Unfortunately—­so he gathered—­the local society was a little mixed, a little—­how shall we say?—­ultra-cosmopolitan.  The geographical situation of the island, lying near the converging point of many trade-routes, might account for this.  And then its beauty and historical associations:  they attracted strange tourists from every part of the world.  Queer types!  Types to be avoided, perhaps.  But what did it matter, after all?  It was one of the advantages of being a man, a civilized man, that you could amuse yourself among any class of society.  As for himself, he liked the common people, the peasants and fishermen; he felt at home among them; they were so genuine, so refreshingly different.

To suchlike ingratiating and rather obvious remarks the bishop had listened, over the dinner table, with urbane acquiescence and growing distrust.  Peasants and fisher folks!  This fellow did not look as if he cared for such company.  He was probably a fraud.

They had met again in the evening, and taken a short stroll along the quay where a noisy band was discoursing operatic airs.  The performance elicited from Mr. Muhlen some caustic comments on Latin music as contrasted with that of Russia and other countries.  He evidently knew the subject.  Mr. Heard, to whom music was Greek, soon found himself out of his depths.  Later on, in the smoking-room, they had indulged in a game of cards—­the bishop being of that broadminded variety which has not the slightest objection to a gentlemanly gamble.  Once more his companion had revealed himself as an accomplished amateur.