When it rose he began to walk back, for the forty-eight hours’ holiday from the world-compelling pamphlet was ended.
He reached the house at seven o’clock; had a bath, dressed himself, ate a moderate breakfast, and began to open and arrange his employer’s letters. That was at 8.30.
At nine o’clock his employer’s guest on his way to breakfast looked into the library. He nodded, came in, and shut the door.
“Good morning, Dexter,” he said. “You’ve got back, I see. I suppose I know your answer?”
“No, I believe you don’t; for I think I’ll go on here.”
“You don’t mean that?”
“I do.”
“Afraid?”
“No.”
“Moral scruples?”