could be seen of him, showed a man of singular power and character. The impression which this vivid personality gave might be summed up in one word, concentration: intense concentration physical as well as mental. The dark eyes seemed to scintillate as under the high pressure of a fully charged brain. The black hair was clinched close to the head in tight, crisp curls, the thin lips were compressed, the whole being seemed to palpitate with concentrated vitality, and yet it was a wreck, or why was he lying there?

[5]

He welcomed Herriard with a smile which held more than mere greeting.

“You are late, Geof. A field-night of course. Well?”

Herriard took the hand that was raised towards him, then wheeled round a chair and sat down.

“I got on all right.”

“That’s well. So you did speak?”

Herriard nodded. “And, I think, made every point you gave me. They beat us by only thirty-three.”

The dark eyes lighted up with malicious triumph. “Good! That’s a nasty rap for Master Askew. We had the logic and they the numbers, eh?”

Herriard gave a short laugh. “Certainly we got in our hits every time.”

“That’s as it should be.”

“They were feeble, and not over-confident after the first hour. It was quite fun to watch them.”

“Weaklings! Fancy losing their nerve and half their majority. What are such sheep good for but to follow[6] their leader through the hedge? I wish I had been there.”

[6]

A look of almost passionate regret crossed the man’s face as he spoke the last words.

“I wish you had, my dear Gastineau. We would have had more fun still, and they more funk.”

“Congreve?”

“Spoke for twenty minutes. An exhibition of the superior person in the throes of embarrassment. That point of yours about the repudiation of the Colonies hit them hard.”

 Prev. P 6/219 next