"What do you eat?" demanded the Premier suddenly.
"A little bread or biscuit."
He clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed me for quite a minute.
"I don't believe you're a quack," he observed. "But when you walked into the room, I was doubtful."
"Why?"
"Because you wouldn't look at me squarely."
"Why should I look at you squarely? I looked at you and saw you. I have no desire to make any impression on you, or to dominate you in any way. It was sufficient just to see you. As Immortals, we do not waste our time looking at one another squarely. An Immortal cannot act."
The Premier smiled to himself and took out his watch.
"I am obliged to you for the instance," he said. "Good-night."
I rose and walked towards the door. On my way I stopped before a vast dingy oil-painting.