Then quite suddenly he knew what it was. It was the memory of old Malakite’s obsessed expression⁠—that expression of concentrated erotic insanity, directed toward universal matter, as he had caught it from under the man’s wrinkled forehead across the blue tea-cosy. This, then, was why he was answering Jason’s remarks in so perfunctory a manner! Then he gave a quick sigh of irrepressible relief; for he became aware that the doll-like young lady was back again at their side, suggesting that they should all sit down before a rickety garden-table upon which she had placed a fresh tray of mugs.

This they proceeded to do; and while she was supplying them with foaming pints of Dorchester ale, he heard her say to Darnley: “ Mr. Malakite’s just traipsed off. He made his little joke, like he always does, the funny old man; but anyone could see he weren’t best pleased! ’Tis hard for him, I expect, to be beat like this by a fellow who, as you might say, is a foreigner in these parts. He’s been playing on this green, that old gentleman, as long as I can mind anything, and there be few enough who’ve got the best of him!”