“Is that what has been worrying you, Cosmo?”
Cosmo Burden started at the noise of his own name. He had taken Mr Harbury’s popularity for granted during full four years, but he had not quite understood why that quiet, dark-haired man had made so many friends, nor why he had lost none; why, living at some distance, travelling much, appearing only as a visitor or guest, he had increased his value till he seemed a kind of centre for all that counted most in the University. He knew now: Mr Harbury had used his travels; he could help.
Mr Harbury also felt a kind of gladness at the same moment; for he knew that he had gained one more friend, and friends to all such men are (if we only knew it!) the dearest part of the comfort they so easily attain.
He said it again, laughing in the goodness of his heart:
“Is that what has been worrying you, Cosmo?”
“It is enough to worry about,” said Cosmo. He said it with his head still down, and he said it miserably. But there was hope in his voice.
Mr Harbury lay back in the attitude of a man wearied by repetition.
“There are fifty men who would give it to you within the next two hours,” he said.
Cosmo, who had read many books, shook his head with a certain firmness, answering:
“I am determined not to borrow from my friends.”