We were neither of us surprised. Vestasian never did surprise people because he surprised them so completely. And I for one was pleased to see him because he had always interested me, and because he was the only one for whom I had entertained any fear.
As I went to greet him I noticed again the sweetness of his face and the hardness; one seemed to cover the other like a mask. His was a face which some, to pride themselves on far-seeing, would say they could not trust, but then I don’t think he ever had any ambition to be trusted.
“You are pleased to see me, Genius,” he said, coming forward. “We did not take an affectionate leave of one another—it was rather too unexpected and too hasty. Who would have thought the last time I saw you you were bound that night for heaven?”
“No, indeed. I had expected perfect annihilation or a second phase of hell.”
He looked at me.
“You are looking much stronger than when I saw you last,” he observed.
“I find the society of heaven more congenial.”
Without answering he went to a sofa, the only thing of luxury in the room, and threw himself down among the cushions and clasped his hands above his head.
All this time Philemon had been watching him from the window. He had not risen from his seat there, but apparently had not objected to the interruption.
Vestasian lying there looked the very picture of luxurious ease. Beautiful he was without a doubt, the kind of beauty that grows on one the more one sees it.