"No," he said. "They are not people like that. When they understand the situation, they will be perfectly well satisfied with you as you are."
I was glad that the major-general had come back to this quieter and wiser frame of mind, and thanked him.
"I hope it may be in my power to do you a service some day," I said; and then, in his turn, he thanked me.
"You never know," he replied. "You may be able to do me a good turn even sooner than you think for."
He smoked thousands more cigarettes, and asked me about my home and my family. He was rather interested to hear that my father was a rural dean, and kindly hoped that he made a good thing out of it. I told him that I believed he did; but I explained to him that money was not everything—indeed, far from it—and that too much is a great temptation. He said that he had never had enough, even in his palmiest days, to judge; and I said—
"There are many precious things that money will not buy, major-general. You must admit that. It won't buy affection, for instance."
He sniffed and evidently doubted this. He said—
"It will buy all the affection I want—and a bit over."
Then the lights of Exeter at last appeared and I was frightfully exhausted by now and jolly glad to see them.
"Here we are at last, thank the Lord," said my companion, though not in a very pious tone. Then, at the outskirts of the town, we came to a building with a light outside, and the major-general pushed me in in front of him—rather roughly, I thought. The inside was brightly illuminated with gas and, to my amazement, the building contained nothing but policemen. One of these was much astonished to see us.