Lathom laughed a little awkwardly.
“Is that the portrait of Miss Milsom?” I interrupted, hastily—for I saw trouble coming up like a thundercloud over Harrison’s horizon. “We must go and have a look at it. You’re doing pretty well to have two pictures in such a crowded year. We mustn’t keep you too long. Which room is it in, Lathom?”
He told us, and when we had said our farewells, pursued us into the next room.
“I say, old man,” he whispered breathlessly, “I couldn’t really help this. Couldn’t in decency get out of it, could I?”
“No,” said I, “I suppose you couldn’t. It’s not my funeral, anyhow.”
“It’s the first time we’ve met,” he went on, “and it will end here.”
“But for my damned interference it wouldn’t have begun here,” I answered. “I’m not blaming you, Lathom. And I’ve really no right to make conditions. I don’t think it’s wise—but I can’t set up to be a dictator.”
“Oh, you admit that, do you?” said Lathom. “I’m rather glad to know it.” He hesitated, and added abruptly, “Well, so long.”
I was thankful to see the end of the episode. From every point of view it seemed advisable to drop all connection with Lathom and the Harrisons, and I saw none of them again until the 19th of October.