He could not recall a similar instance in all the years of his recent experience when he was constrained to recognize, nay, surrender to, a diffusive impulse such as this curious stranger awakened in his mind.
In yielding to its insinuations, even to the extent already recorded, he was agreeably conscious of a sort of guilty abandon which, at times, stupefies the moral qualities ere delivering them into the hands of a welcome invader.
For some time Robert, with the others, had enjoyed the entertainment offered by this transformation of Satyr to Faun, and the inversion advanced to still further degrees their curious regard of the “Sepoy,” a picturesque description bestowed upon him by the blasé boarders.
Consequently, one evening, when, at the conclusion of the dinner, the “Sepoy,” in response to the invitation of Raikes, was seen to disappear with the latter through the doorway which led to his apartments, Robert’s interest in the spectacle changed to genuine alarm, until a moment’s reflection upon his uncle’s well-known ability to take care of himself reassured him.
Intruding the door between themselves and all further speculation, the strangely-assorted pair proceeded along a dimly-illumed hallway to a room in which Raikes usually secluded himself.
As the Sepoy advanced, he could see that, with the exception of two sleeping-chambers, revealed by their open doors, the apartment in which he found himself was the only one where any kind of accommodation could be found, as the balance of the house offered unmistakable evidences of being unoccupied.
“Be seated, sir,” croaked Raikes, with a voice strangely suggestive of a raven attempting the modulations of some canary it had swallowed. “I do not smoke myself, and, therefore, cannot provide you with that sort of entertainment; still, I have no objection to you enjoying yourself in that way if,” with a cynical shrug of the shoulders by way of apology, “you have come prepared.”
Accepting this frank inhospitality in the spirit of its announcement, the stranger, smiling with his curious eyes, produced two cigars, one of which he offered to Raikes, and which was consistently and promptly refused.
“I can’t afford it,” expostulated the latter. “I never indulge myself even in temptation; the nearest I will approach to dissipation will be, with your permission, to enjoy the aroma. I do not propose to rebuke myself for that.”
“As you please,” returned the other as he replaced the weed in his pocket. “It is my one indulgence; in other respects I challenge any man to be more abstemious.”