"Something has disturbed you," commented the professor, rather seriously. "You are talking nonsense."
And as he said it the thought occurred to him that he had heard more of that kind of nonsense than usual of late, and that the fact was likely to be of some significance. "It is the old story," he thought, "and it is beginning to wear upon him until he does not control himself quite so completely as he did at first. That is natural too. Perhaps Bertha herself has been a little cruel to him, in her woman's way. She has not been bearing it so well either."
"My dear professor," said Laurence, "everything is relative, and what you call nonsense I regard as my most successful conversational efforts. I could not wield Excalibur. Don't expect it of me, I beg you."
If he had made an effort to evade any further discussion of Mrs. Sylvestre and the possibilities of her future, he had not failed in it. They talked of her no more, in fact, they talked very little at all. A shade had fallen upon the professor's face and did not pass away. He lighted his cigar again, but scarcely seemed to enjoy finishing it. If Arbuthnot had been in as alert a mental condition as usual, his attention would have been attracted by the anxious thoughtfulness of his old friend's manner; but he himself was preoccupied and rather glad of the opportunity to be silent. When the cigars were finished, and he was on the point of taking his departure, the professor seemed to rouse himself as if from a reverie.
"That modest ambition of yours"—he began slowly.
"Thank you for thinking of it," said Arbuthnot, as he paused.
"It interests me," replied the professor. "You are continually finding something to interest me. There is no reason why it should be thwarted, you know."
"I wish I did," returned Laurence. "But I don't, you see. They are shaky pieces of architecture, those government buildings. The foundation-stones are changed too often to insure a sense of security to the occupants. No; my trouble is that I don't know."
"You have a great many friends," said the professor.
"I have a sufficient number of invitations to make myself generally useful," said Laurence, "and of course they imply an appreciation of my social gifts which gratifies me; but a great deal depends on a man's wardrobe. I might as well be without talents as minus a dress-coat. It interests me sometimes to recognize a brother in the 'song and dance artist' who is open to engagements. I, my dear professor, am the 'song and dance artist.' When I am agile and in good voice I am recalled; but they would not want me if I were hoarse and out of spirits, and had no spangles."