“Is that your sole reason for accepting the life?” asked Doctor Hilary curiously.
Antony looked him full in the eyes.
“It is not,” he replied smiling. And then he turned to the kettle, which was on the point of boiling over.
Of course it was a rebuff. But it was a perfectly polite one. And oddly—or, perhaps, not oddly—Doctor Hilary did not resent it in the least. On the contrary, he respected the man who had administered it.
“There’s no milk,” said Antony presently, pouring tea into two cups. “Can you be putting up with a lemon?”
“I like it,” Doctor Hilary assured him.
After the meal they smoked together, making remarks now and again, interspersed with little odd silences, which, however, appeared quite natural and friendly. Josephus, who at the outset had viewed the entry of the big man on the scene with something akin to disapproval, now walked solemnly over to him, stood on his hind legs, and put his fore paws on Doctor Hilary’s knees.
“A token of approval,” said Antony.
And then another of the odd little silences fell.
“You will report yourself to Golding at half-past seven on Monday morning,” said Doctor Hilary some quarter of an hour later, as he rose to take his leave. “He lives at the lodge about five minutes’ walk up the road. You’ll find the place all right. You will take all instructions as to your work from him. If you should wish to see me personally at any time regarding anything, you will usually find me at home in the evening.”