DIST. V. Yes, I owed a great deal to his generous friendship. It gave me confidence.
CHAMBERLAIN. Harcourt, too, always spoke of you with affection.
DIST. V. Oh, yes; we had a brotherly feeling about Rosebery, you know.
CHAMBERLAIN (ignoring his diversion). Randolph hadn't though. He was bitter.
DIST. V. Randolph was a performer who just once exceeded his promise, and then could never get back to it. That was his tragedy. Strange how, when he lost his following, his brilliancy all went with it.
CHAMBERLAIN. Yes, it was strange, in one so independent of others. He had a great faculty, at one time, for not caring, for being (or seeming) ruthless. It's a gift that a politician must envy. It hasn't been my way to lose my heart in politics: it's not safe. But—you charmed me.
(There is an implication here that the quiet tone has not obscured. And so the direct question comes:)
DIST. V. Chamberlain, I must ask. What is there between us?
CHAMBERLAIN. Nothing—nothing now at all—or very little.
DIST. V. No, no; you are too sincere to pretend to misunderstand me like that.