“Won’t you take a seat?” said Walter.
“Thank you!” returned Sefton, and sat on the bed.
“I am twenty-seven,” he said at length. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three,” answered Walter.
“When I was twenty-three, I knew ever so much more than I do now! I’m not half so sure about things as I was. I wonder if you will find it so!”
“I hope I shall—otherwise I sha’n’t have got on.”
“Well, now, couldn’t you just—why not?—forestall your experience by making use of mine? I’m talking like a fool, I know, but never mind; it is the more genuine. Look here, Mr. Colman! I like you, and believe you will one day be something more than a gentleman. There, that won’t do! What’s my opinion, good or bad, to you? Listen to me anyhow: you’re on the wrong tack here, old boy!”
“I’m sorry I don’t understand you,” said Walter.
“Naturally not; how could you? I will explain.”
“Please. Don’t mind me. I shall do my best not to be offended.”