“Yes, you have the chance. I’m listening.”
“I know.” Armstrong’s long fingers were twitching nervously. Despite an effort to prevent his lower lip trembled in sympathy. “And still, now that for the first time I have the chance, I can’t. I don’t want to. I—” Of a sudden an uncontrollable moisture came into his eyes, and he shifted about abruptly until his face was hid. “Damn you, Darley Roberts!” he stormed inadequately, “I don’t want to a bit, but after all I trust you and—and like you. You have my permission to intrude. I want you to, have wanted you to a hundred times.” The Rubicon was crossed at last and he made the admission that for long had trembled on his tongue. “Somehow I can’t get along without you and keep my nerve. I think you’re the only person in the world who even in a measure understands me, and can maybe make a man of me again.”
“You mean to suggest that Elice,” he began, “that Elice—You dare to suggest that to me?” (Page 107)
In his place Darley Roberts sat looking at the other, merely looking at him. The silence grew embarrassing, lasted into minutes; but still unconsciously he remained as he was. At last suddenly his eyes dropped and simultaneously the fingers of his big hands twitched in a way that heralded action. Whatever the problem of that period of silence decision had come.
“I think I understand what you mean,” he said deliberately. “Perhaps, too, it’s true. I don’t know. Anyway I’ll try to play the game—try to.” He remembered, and the hands lay still. “By the way, you’re not working now?”
“No.”
“Have you anything definite in sight?”