Felix smiled.
“You have been so engrossed in your—golf,” he remarked. “It is a fascinating game, is it not?”
“Very,” Mr. Sabin assented. “You yourself are a devotee, I see.”
“I am a beginner,” Felix answered, “and a very clumsy beginner too. I take my clubs with me, however, whenever I go to the coast at this time of year; they save one from being considered a madman.”
“It is singular,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “that you should have chosen to visit Cromer just now. It is really a most interesting meeting. I do not think that I have had the pleasure of seeing you since that evening at the ‘Milan,’ when your behaviour towards me—forgive my alluding to it—was scarcely considerate.”
Mr. Sabin was quite friendly and unembarrassed. He seemed to treat the affair as a joke. Felix looked glumly out of the window.
“Your luck stood you in good stead—as usual,” he said. “I meant to kill you that night. You see I don’t mind confessing it! I had sworn to make the attempt the first time we met face to face.”
“Considering that we are quite alone,” Mr. Sabin remarked, looking around the carriage, “and that from physical considerations my life under such conditions is entirely at your mercy, I should like some assurance that you have no intention of repeating the attempt. It would add very materially to my comfort.”
The young man smiled without immediately answering. Then he was suddenly grave; he appeared to be reflecting. Almost imperceptibly Mr. Sabin’s hand stole towards the window. He was making a mental calculation as to what height above the carriage window the communication cord might be. Felix, watching his fingers, smiled again.
“You need have no fear,” he said; “the cause of personal enmity between you and me is dead. You have nothing more to fear from me at any time.”