"Say what you please about things in future, Desmond."
He spoke without removing his eyes from the match he was manipulating. "I swear I won't take it amiss again." Then he rose abruptly. "But I must be off now. I only waited to see you, and—thank you before leaving. You've the knack of putting fresh heart into a fellow when he feels played out."
Desmond eyed the man thoughtfully for a second before replying. Every line of him proclaimed utter weariness of soul and body.
"Anything ready for you over there?" said he.
"Not that I know of. But Zyarulla will shake things down in no time."
"All the same, as your luggage is handy, why not stop on here? You'd be uncommonly welcome; and I know Honor would be glad to keep an eye on you for a while longer."
The invitation, given on the spur of the moment, took Lenox aback.
"But, my good chap, . . . you've got Wyndham coming over."
"Yes. Thank God. To-morrow or next day. No distaste for Paul's company, have you?"
Lenox smiled, and shook his head.