“I hope we have known each other too many years, old fellow,” he said, “to bear any lasting ill-will for words spoken in the heat of anger or disappointment, eh?”
He stood in front of the banker frankly holding out the hand of forgiveness, his head a little on one side, that melancholy smile of toleration for poor human weakness in his eyes.
“Well,” admitted Turner, “we’ve certainly known each other a good many years.”
He somewhat laboriously hoisted himself up, his head emerging from his tumbled collar like the head of a tortoise aroused from sleep, and gave into Colville’s affectionate grasp a limp and nerveless hand.
“No one could feel for you more sincerely than I do,” Colville assured him, drawing forward a chair,—“more than I have done all through these trying months.”
“Very kind, I’m sure,” murmured Turner, looking drowsily at his friend’s necktie. One must look somewhere, and Turner always gazed at the necktie of any one who sat straight in front of him, which usually induced an uneasy fingering of that ornament and an early consultation of the nearest mirror. “Have a cigar.”
There was the faint suggestion of a twinkle beneath the banker’s heavy lids as Colville accepted this peace-offering. It was barely twenty-four hours since he had himself launched in Colville’s direction the rumour which had brought about this reconciliation.
“And I’m sure,” continued the other, turning to cut the end of the cigar, “that no one would be better pleased to hear that better times are coming—eh? What did you say?”
“Nothing. Didn’t speak,” was the reply to this vague interrogation. Then they talked of other things. There was no lack of topics for conversation at this time in France; indeed, the whole country was in a buzz of talk. But Turner was not, it seemed, in a talkative mood. Only once did he rouse himself to take more than a passing interest in the subject touched upon by his easy-going companion.
“Yes,” he admitted, “he may be the best cook in Paris, but he is not what he was. It is this Revision of the Constitution which is upsetting the whole country, especially the lower classes. The man’s hand is shaky. I can see it from his way of pouring the mayonnaise over a salad.”