But he hoped not to fail with Sên King-lo.
CHAPTER XXXI
They argued it long and carefully—not once hotly—not once either failing in courtesy or affection. That was impossible because their mutual respect and affection was too well founded and seasoned—too deep and sincere. But no hint of rancor or unfairness on one part, or suspicion of it on the other, made Snow’s position and arguments the stronger and perhaps did not weaken either Sên’s attitude or his reply.
There was no “quarrel-scene” about it, only regret on both sides, by both frankly acknowledged.
“I dislike it,” Sir Charles began, passing his cigarettes—tobacco marks conference, not dispute—“I dread it utterly, and I ask you to consider it searchingly.”
“I believe I have done that, Sir Charles.”
“When!”
Sên smiled.
“Since, I’ll be bound,” Snow continued, “for I’m convinced that you’d not have done it—spoken. I mean—if you had thought it out beforehand. It came on impulse, I suspect.”
“Quite on impulse,” the other owned.