when we sat down, before our talk had taken any turn or colour that might have hindered me from saying what I meant to say. I cannot tell myself where it came from—my coolness and determination and preciseness of expression. It was if something independent of my will was speaking through my lips. He sat opposite me with his elbows resting on the rails of the veranda; he pulled a lilac-branch towards him and stripped the leaves off it. When I began to speak, he let go the branch and leaned his head on one hand. His attitude might have shown either perfect calmness or strong emotion.
“Why are you going?” I asked, significantly, deliberately, and looking straight at him.
He did not answer at once.
“Business!” he muttered at last and dropped his eyes.
I realized how difficult he found it to lie to me, and in reply to such a frank question.
“Listen,” I said; “you know what today