"No," she said. "But what is he like—when he is angry?"
Jack considered. "He's rather like a devil that's been packed in ice for a very long time. He doesn't expand, he contracts. He emits a species of condensed fury that has a disastrous effect upon the object thereof. He is about the last man in the world that I should choose to quarrel with."
"But why?" she said. "Would you be afraid of him?"
Jack considered this point too quite gravely and impartially. "I really don't know, Chris," he said at last. "I believe I should be."
"He can be terrible, then," she said, as if stating a conclusion rather than asking a question.
"More or less," Jack admitted. "But he is never unreasonable. I have never seen him angry without good cause."
"And then—I suppose he is merciless?"
"Quite," said Jack. "I saw him shoot a Kaffir once for knocking a wounded man on the head. It was no more than the brute deserved. I was lying wounded myself, and he took my revolver to do it with. But it was a nasty jolt for the Kaffir. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him and why, before it happened. Afterwards, when Trevor came back to me, he was smiling, so I suppose it did him good. He's a very deliberate chap. Some people call him cold-blooded. He never acts on impulse. And I've never known him make a mistake."
"I see." Chris swallowed once or twice as if she felt an obstruction in her throat. "I expect he would be like that with anyone," she said. "I mean if he had reason to be angry with anyone, he wouldn't spare them—whatever they were. I always felt he was like that."
"He's one of the best chaps in the world," said Jack warmly.