"None, of course—none. I simply had a quite unreasonable feeling that I wished you hadn't. That is all."
And then Valentine relapsed into silence, the silence some men keep when they are needlessly, uselessly irritated. The mention of Marr's name had effected him oddly. He now felt a perverse desire not to sit, not comply with the rather impertinent prediction of this dark-featured prophet whom he had never seen. To carry out this prediction would seem like an obedience to a stranger, governing, unseen, and at a distance. Why did this man concern himself in the affairs of those over whom he had no sovereignty, with whom he had no friendship?
"Julian," Valentine said at last, abruptly, "I wish you would promise me something."
"What is it?"
"To drop this fellow, Marr. He has nothing to do with us, and it is a decided impertinence, this curiosity he shows in our doings. Don't answer any more of his questions. Tell him to keep his advice to himself. And if you really believe he is obtaining an influence over you, avoid him."
"You talk as if you disliked him."
"I feel as if I hated him."
"A man you have never even seen?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't take to him, and I have seen him. I will drop him as much as I can. I promise you that."