The little artless admission roused Kingston to the highest point of excitement. He must penetrate to the secret haunt of that soul which had such clear flashes of recognition. The task must not be hopeless. He turned almost savagely upon his guest.
‘Restormel,’ he said, ‘what do you mean by that? For God’s sake, think—think hard, and tell me what you mean by that. Think, man, think.’
The vehemence of his attack, however, had no effect upon the younger man. Kingston had hoped that by its sheer sudden intensity it must inevitably strike a chord of memory, must inevitably rouse up the sleeping soul with its cry of eagerness. But it failed—failed utterly, and his mood fell back baffled.
‘I’d tell you if I could,’ protested Ivor. ‘But, upon my soul, I can’t. It is just another of my idiotic crazes. I wish I had not told you now. It only makes one seem more of an ass than one did before. Anyhow, I think I must be getting back to Restormel, Mr. Darnley. Thanks so much for letting me come over. I have awfully enjoyed seeing the Castle. Will you say good-bye for me to Lady Gundred?’
‘Look here,’ said Kingston, suddenly kindled to anxiety by this threat of departure—‘look here. What are you going to do, Restormel, when you leave the Hoope-Arkwrights? I mean, what are your plans in life?’
‘Mine? Oh, well, I hardly know. I have got to make some money somehow. There isn’t a penny-piece for us to live on. I shall have to be a clerk, or something of the kind, I imagine. My mother sent me to Oxford because she wanted me to make my living by teaching. But it does not seem that there is much chance of that nowadays. The world swarms with tutors and masters.’
Kingston saw his chance. It was unthinkable that this recovered joy of his life should be allowed to pass away again immediately, leaving him in the darkness that he had endured for twenty years. He could not bear the thought of parting with Ivor Restormel. The very notion was a pain.
‘But look here,’ he said abruptly, ‘why not come to us and be my secretary, and do tutor to my son Jim, perhaps, in the holidays? I am sure we should all get on capitally together, and, honestly, I don’t think that you could easily pick up anything much better. And we’d do our best for you. What do you say?’
Ivor, confounded at this sudden proposition, the last thing that he had expected after his behaviour of that afternoon, lost himself in thanks and self-depreciation. Kingston would hear of no such hesitations.
‘We might just as well settle it now,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to consider much, or think over—that is, if you really care to try this kind of work. You know about us, and we know about you; and, so far as we are concerned, I don’t see that anything could possibly have fallen out more conveniently.’