"Well, Santoris isn't quite a stranger,"—said Mr. Harland—"After all,
I knew him at college—"
"You think you knew him,"—put in Brayle—"He may not be the same man."
"He is the same man,"—answered Mr. Harland, rather testily—"There are no two of his kind in the world."
Brayle lifted his eyebrows with a mildly affected air of surprise.
"I thought you had your doubts—"
"Of course!—I had and have my doubts concerning everybody and everything"—said Mr. Harland, "And I suppose I shall have them to the end of my days. I have sometimes doubted even your good intentions towards me."
A dark flush overspread Brayle's face suddenly, and as suddenly paled.
He laughed a little forcedly.
"I hardly think you have any reason to do so," he said.
Mr. Harland did not answer, but turning round, addressed me.
"You enjoyed yourself at Loch Coruisk, didn't you?"