"But for your overweening humility, Selingman," he began—
Selingman struck the table with his fist.
"It is a night for rejoicings, this," he thundered. "I will not have my weaknesses exposed. Let us, for to-night, at any rate, see the best in each other. Glance, for instance, at Miss Julia. Admire the exquisite pink of my carnations which she has condescended to wear; see how well they become her."
"I feel like a flower shop," Julia laughed.
"And you look like the spirit of the flowers herself," Selingman declared, "the wonderful Power on the other side of the sun, who draws them out of the ground and touches their petals with colour, shakes perfume into their blossoms and makes this England of yours, in springtime, like a beautiful, sweet-smelling carpet."
"Don't listen to him, Julia," Maraton warned her. "It was only a month ago that he told me that no civilised man should live in this country because of the women and the beer."
"A man changes," Selingman insisted fiercely. "Your beer I will never drink, but Miss Julia knows that she hasn't in the world a slave so abject as I."
Maraton rose to his feet.
"I must go," he announced. "I have to talk with Mr. Foley for a few minutes. You had better come with me, Aaron. Selingman will see Julia back."
They watched him depart. Julia sighed as he passed through the door.