This question came abruptly. The friends had been together since half-past two, and the above is a fair sample of the conversation which had taken place.
"Nothing," Nigel said—adding, "at least nothing in particular."
"Only everything in general. That's as bad."
"No. It's all right."
"Sure? You seem out of sorts somehow."
Nigel rowed on in silence. The lithe muscular figure found evident pleasure in the exertion, moving with careless ease. There was no lack of good health apparent in the bronze face; but the immovable gravity differed much from Nigel's old light-heartedness. Malcolm noticed it more than usually this day. He had started in high spirits himself, ready for any amount of gaiety, and he found scant response. No answering fun was to be got out of his serious companion.
"What's the matter, old fellow?" he inquired again. "I don't want to be a bother, but really one can't help noticing. What are you thinking about?"
"Varieties," was the answer.
"When are you coming to see us again?"
"I don't know. Some day, perhaps."