"No?"
The less you encouraged him the more likely he was to say what was in his mind. That had always been his way.
He swung round suddenly. "By the way, Hilton, I want to take that job in Australia."
"You do?"
"Yes.... You think I ought to, don't you?"
I said: "From the purely personal point of view I'm just hating the thought of you taking it. But, on the other hand, you must admit it's a goodish job, as jobs go nowadays."
"Yes.... That's what I feel. And I can't go on like this...."
He dragged a small chair near to the window and sat down. "Aged thirty and beginning all over again," he went on. "No money. Heavily in debt. No position. Impossible to think of marriage—even if I wanted to.... And yet, for all that, in the things that really matter, I've succeeded. I can feel that, can't I?"
I nodded. "From your own point of view, undoubtedly. But there are times when the material side of life is apt to come to the front rather awkwardly."
"Yes." His voice was eager, as if he had found me interpreting his own thoughts. "Hilton, to tell you the truth, I'm in a fix.... I want to take this job, as I said—in fact, I know I must take it—and yet—and yet...." He hesitated, and then finished up: "There's such an odd sort of difficulty in the way."