“That’s all right then,” said Terence. “Would you like me to wait here?”
“You can wait anywhere you like,” said Rouse, “as long as you don’t come too.” He began to walk out of the door, then turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Yes,” he said rather more graciously, “I should rather like you to be here when I come back if you don’t mind waiting.”
He went out and closed the door behind him, then he began to walk quickly along the corridor and down the stairs. Out in the open he became an object of general interest. He was conscious that all who met him glanced at him in curiosity. He gave no sign of his feelings at all. He looked at one or two that he met and nodded to them cheerfully. At last he was opposite Seymour’s, and he went in and mounted the stairs two at a time.
Outside Coles’ study he stopped just for a second and knocked. Then he went in. At first there appeared to be nobody inside. But he glanced into the corner where an easy-chair was placed before the fire and observed a tuft of hair showing above it. He moved forward and leaned over. Coles was sitting there asleep. His mouth was open and his features limp. A plain young man awake, he was widely renowned for his extreme ugliness when asleep. Rouse dropped his hand on to his shoulder and shook him vigorously. There came a distant growling. Rouse continued to shake.
“What on earth is it?” muttered the object in the chair, slowly opening his eyes. “Who wants me? Why don’t you——” He recognised Rouse with a start and stopped abruptly. “Hullo!” he said. He rose somewhat foolishly and began to smooth his hair with his hands. “I was asleep.”
“Yes,” said Rouse calmly. “So I noticed. I’m just about to put you to sleep again too.”
“Eh?”
Rouse explained.
“I’m going to hit you under the chin,” said he, “and I hope it’ll hurt. I thought you’d like to know.”
At first Coles only stared at him confusedly, but presently the effects of sleep began to pass from him, and he collected his thoughts and made ready to deal with the situation. He went over Rouse’s surprising statement word for word, in silent communion with his inner self, analysing it with evident care, and at length he looked up at Rouse queerly.