"Hello, Ben!" he remarked, half angrily. "So you've turned up, have you? Has there been another panic in the market?"
"Is Sally here?" I asked. "I'm anxious about her."
"Well, it's time you were," he answered. "Yes, she's inside."
He stopped in the centre of the walk, and turning from the door, I came back and faced him in a silence that seemed alive with the beating of innumerable wings in the air.
"Something's wrong, George," I said at last, breaking through my restraint.
He looked at me with a calm, enquiring gaze while I was speaking, and by that look I understood, in an inspiration, he had condemned me.
"Yes, something's wrong," he answered quietly, "but have you just found it out?"
"I haven't found it out yet. What is it? What is the matter?"
At the question his calmness deserted him and the dark flush of anger broke suddenly in his face.
"The matter is, Ben," he replied, holding himself in with an effort, "that you've missed being a fool only by being a genius instead."