"Don't you know," said Mr. Thompson, "that we are not as much the captain of our souls as we like to think?"
He was in a steamer chair now, and lying back, he blew smoke at the ceiling.
"But you were saying, Mr. Thompson," said I.
"I was saying more than I ought to," he mused.
He had forgotten his cigar. Herbert twisted a bit of newspaper, touched it to the glowing boulets and held it out to Mr. Thompson. Matches are expensive in France.
"Oh!" he started. "I was away back years ago. Thank you. I was wrong a minute ago when I told you I had said too much. I have said too little. You have made me feel at home, and I shall be frank with you. It sometimes wrecks a fellow's career if he receives just a little too much help. What I am talking about is quite a different thing from what I may have suggested just now. Not a person spoiled with too much money. But I was spoiled by the fact that at a certain time, I was able to put my hands on ever so little money when it was not good for me. Not the money itself, you understand, but the fact that the game is so easy."
"But I don't understand," I protested.
"Of course you don't," said Mr. Thompson.
He threw the butt of his cigar on the floor, put his foot on it, and took another from Herbert's box.
"Sorry I haven't better cigars to give you," said my husband. "These carrés à deux sous just suit my speed."