"Very well," said Marbury cheerfully; "when you're tired of the other camp remember you've a friend outside. Good-bye, and good-luck."
Peter could not resist Marbury's good temper. He was beginning to feel in the wrong.
"Marbury," he said, "why am I always rude?"
Marbury smiled into Peter's lighted face:
"You were born younger than most of us. Meantime, your train is moving."
Peter scrambled into a passing carriage, and Marbury threw his luggage in at the window.
Peter waved him a friendly farewell, and retired to reflect upon his inveterate want of grace.
Marbury looked after the train in smiling meditation. He expected to see Peter within the year. He rather enjoyed the prospect of Peter loose among the intellectuals of London. He knew what these people were like.