“How do you mean?” he asked with an eagerness that greatly encouraged me.
I told him then of the bishop’s suggestion about the Colonial Service.
Edmund made no reply. He was leaning his elbows on the table, balancing a spoon on the edge of a knife. The spoon see-sawed dangerously, and I watched it in an agony lest it should fall. It seemed as though our fate somehow depended on its equilibrium.
It swung slowly to a balance and came to rest.
“Do you think,” Edmund asked, watching the spoon, “that the bishop would still do that, or try to do it, if he knew all this business?”
“I don’t know. He will have to be told first.”
“Of course.”
“I shall tell him the whole story. Would you refuse such an offer if it came to you?” I asked, fearful that my voice had betrayed my eagerness.
He laid the spoon carefully down on the table and withdrew the knife.
“No,” he said, “I should not refuse it, after what you have said.”