He paused, and there was a sudden look in his eyes which gave them a sombre darkness, darker than their own natural color.
“You shall—what?” asked Denzil.
“Do something desperate,” replied Gervase. “What the something will be depends on the humor of the moment. A tiger balked of his prey is not an agreeable beast; a strong man deprived of the woman he passionately desires is a little less agreeable even than the tiger. But let us adopt the policy of laissez-faire. Nothing is decided; the fair one cares for neither of us; let us be friends until she makes her choice.”
“We cannot be friends,” said Denzil, sternly.
“Good! Let us be foes then, but courteous, even in our quarrel, dear boy. If we must kill each other, let us do it civilly. To fly at each other’s throats would be purely barbaric. We owe a certain duty to civilization; things have progressed since the days of Araxes.”
Denzil stared at him gloomily.
“Araxes is Dr. Dean’s fad,” he said. “I don’t know anything about Egyptian mummies, and don’t want to know. My matter is with the present, and not with the past.”
They had reached the hotel by this time, and turned into the gardens side by side.
“You understand?” repeated Denzil. “We cannot be friends!”
Gervase gave him a profoundly courteous salute, and the two separated.