"Oh, nothing. He just smiled in his sad way, and said 'Yes, perhaps it might be,' as if the words made no impression on him."
"Why do you say 'his sad way?' Hamish always had the sweetest and gayest smile in the world. We used, if you remember, to call him Sunny Hamish."
"I know. But somehow he has altered, Arthur. He was changing a little before, seemed thoughtful and considerate instead of gay and mocking; but that was nothing to the way he has changed lately. I'd not say it to any soul but you, old Arthur, not even to Annabel, but my belief is just this--that the reviews have done it."
"The reviews!"
Roland nodded. "Taken the shine out of him for a time. Oh, he'll come-to again soon; never fear. All the sooner if I could find out who the snake was, and kick him."
"We cannot judge for others; we cannot put ourselves in their places," observed Arthur. "Or else it seems to me that, after producing such a book as Hamish's, I should rest on its obvious merits, and be little moved by what adverse friends could say."
"I'm sure they'd not move me," avowed candid Roland. "The newspaper writers might lay hold of all my flounderings at Port Natal, and print them for the public benefit in big text-type tomorrow, and direct a packet to Annabel. What should I care? I say, how about poor Charley? He has been ill."
"Very ill. They have kindly given him six months' leave, and pay his overland passage out and home."
"And how much leave have you got for London, Arthur?"
"That depends on Charley. If he comes straight on from Marseilles, he may be here in a day or two: but should his health have improved on the voyage, he will probably make a stay in Paris. I am to wait for him here until he comes, Galloway says."