“I? No—why should I?”
“I don’t know. It’s supposed to be just as well to know about things, isn’t it?”
“I dare say,” answered Brook, indifferently. “But science isn’t exactly in my line, if I have any line.”
They recrossed the platform in silence.
“What is your line—if you have any?” Clare asked, looking at the ground as she walked, and perfectly indifferent as to his answer.
“It ought to be beer,” answered Brook, gravely. “But then, you know how it is—one has all sorts of experts, and one ends by taking their word for granted about it. I don’t believe I have any line—unless it’s in the way of out-of-door things. I’m fond of shooting, and I can ride fairly, you know, like anybody else.”
“Yes,” said Clare, “you were telling me so the other day, you know.”
“Yes,” Johnstone murmured thoughtfully, “that’s true. Please excuse me. I’m always repeating myself.”
“I didn’t mean that.” Her tone changed a little. “You can be very amusing when you like, you know.”
“Thanks, awfully. I should like to be amusing now, for instance, but I can’t.”