"Do. I shan't have so many more evenings of—"
"Freedom—"
"—Of loneliness, confound you! Come in!"
Rokeby followed him into his rooms, on the second floor. A good fire was burning, but they were just bachelor rooms full of hired—and cheap—furniture. As Osborn cast off his overcoat and took Rokeby's, he glanced around expressively.
"You should see the flat. You will see it soon. All Marie's arrangement, and absolutely charming."
"Thanks awfully. I'll be your first caller."
"Well, don't forget it. What'll you have?"
"Whiskey, please."
"So'll I."
Osborn gave Desmond one of the two armchairs by the fire, and took the other himself. Another silence fell, during which Rokeby saw Osborn smiling secretly and involuntarily to himself as he had seen other men smile. The man was uplifted; his mind soared in heaven, while his body dwelt in a hired plush chair in the sitting-room of furnished lodgings. Rokeby took his drink, contented not to interrupt; he watched Osborn, and saw the light play over his face, and the thoughts full of beauty come and go. At length, following the direction of some thought, again it was Osborn who broke the mutual quiet, exclaiming: