"To a certain extent, yes!" he admitted; "as I was responsible for the interview, I naturally feel some interest in it," he added stiffly.
"Lord Polloch was most civil," I assured him. "He thanked me very much for coming to see him. He hoped that I would call again immediately on his return from Scotland, and—I have no doubt that by this time he has forgotten all about me."
"Your information, after all, then," Gilbert exclaimed, "was not really important!"
"He did not appear to find it so," I admitted.
"I wonder," Gilbert said, looking at me curiously "what sort of a mare's nest you have got hold of. Rather out of your line, this sort of thing, isn't it?"
The walls of the club smoking-room seemed suddenly to break away. I was looking out into the great work where men and women faced the whirlwinds, and were torn away, struggling and fighting always, into the Juggernaut of destruction. I looked into the quiet corners where the cowards lurked, and I seemed to see my own empty place there.
"Oh! I don't know," I answered calmly. "We are all the slaves of opportunity. Lord Polloch very courteously, but with little apparent effort, has made me feel like a fool. Perhaps I am one! Perhaps Lord Polloch is too much of an Englishman. That remains to be discovered."
"What do you mean by 'too much of an Englishman'?" Gilbert asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Too much self-confidence, too little belief in the possibility of the unusual," I answered.