"And by Jove we won't disappoint him!" cried Roy, who had seen his God-given chance. Springing up he gripped Dyán by the shoulder. "Your reasonable mind will take the form of scooting back with me, jut put;[17] and we can slip out of Delhi by the night mail. Time's precious. So hurry up."
But Dyán did not stir. He sat there looking so plainly staggered that Roy burst out laughing.
"You're not half awake yet. You've messed about so long with men who merely 'agitate' and 'inaugurate,' that you've forgotten the kind who act first and talk afterwards. I give you ten minutes to scribble a tender farewell. Then—we make tracks. It's all I came here for—if you want to know. And I take it you're willing?"
Dyán sighed. "I am willing enough. But—there are many complications. You do not know. They are organising big trouble over the Rowlatt Bill—and other things. I have not much secret information, or my life would probably not be worth a pin. But it is all one complicated network, and there are too easy ways in India for social and spiritual boycott——"
He enlarged a little; quoted cases that filled Roy with surprise and indignation, but no way shook his resolve.
"We needn't go straight to Jaipur. Quite good fun to knock round a bit. Throw him off the scent, till he's got over the shock. We can wire our news; Arúna will be too happy to fret over a little delay. And you won't be ostracised among your own people. They want you. They want your help. Grandfather does. The best I could do was to run you to earth—open your eyes——"
"And by Indra you've done it, Roy."
"You'll come then?"
"Yes, I'll come—and damn the consequences!"
The Dyán of Oxford days was visibly emerging now: a veritable awakening; the strained look gone from his face.