Erlito’s face clouded suddenly over. He glanced uneasily behind him. His face became graver, his expression resolved itself into sterner lines. A sudden bitterness found its way into his tone. The mention of Theos had stung him.
“The Republic tolerates aristocrats, then,” he remarked. “You are fortunate.”
Reist drew himself up.
“The Republic,” he answered, proudly, “would never dare to interfere with us. While the people of Theos remain, we of Reist are safe.”
There was a momentary pause. Reist was conscious that his impetuous speech was scarcely a happy one. For it was this man indeed who was the outcast—whose name even had become strange to the people over whom his forefathers had ruled. Erlito showed no resentment, but his eyes were very sorrowful.
“Your family,” he said, slowly, “have always been patriots. You deserve well of your country people.”
Reist glanced once more around the room.
“My visit to you,” he said, “is not one of courtesy—nay, let me say affection, only. I have a weighty matter to discuss with you. Will you allow me to outstay your guests?”
“With all the pleasure in the world,” Erlito answered, heartily. “I should indeed insist upon it.”
“You will perhaps continue your—game,” Reist suggested, with another glance towards the net. “My time is yours.”