“Oh,” I said, “they’re burnt, are they?”
He got up, and began to pace the room.
“But I shan’t give up, Julian,” he cried, with a sickening return of the melodrama hero manner; “I shan’t give up. I shall still persevere. The fight will be terrible. Often I shall feel on the point of despair. Yet I shall win through. I feel it, Julian. I have the grit in me to do it. And meanwhile”—he lowered his voice, and seemed surprised that the orchestra did not strike up the slow music—“meanwhile, I shall ask Eva to wait.”
To wait! The colossal, the Napoleonic impudence of the man! I have known men who seemed literally to exude gall, but never one so overflowing with it as James Orlebar Cloyster. As I looked at him standing there and uttering that great speech, I admired him. I ceased to wonder at his success in life.
I shook my head.
“I can’t do it,” I said regretfully. “I simply cannot begin to say what I think of you. The English language isn’t equal to it. I cannot, off-hand, coin a new phraseology to meet the situation. All I can say is that you are unique.”
“What do you mean?”
“Absolutely unique. Though I had hoped you would have known me better than to believe that I would swallow the ludicrous yarn you’ve prepared. Don’t you ever stop and ask yourself on these occasions if it’s good enough?”
“You don’t believe me!”
“My dear James!” I protested. “Believe you!”