“Seems to me you ought to realize by this time that I am serious, Armstrong. You’ve known me long enough. Do you still fancy I’ve been posing these last five years you’ve known me?”
“No; you never pose, Darley. This is a compliment, I think; moreover, it’s the reason most of all why I like you.” He laughed in turn, unconsciously removing the sting from the observation following. “I can’t see any other possible excuse for our being friends. We’re as different as night is from day.”
The criticism was not new, and Roberts said nothing.
“I wonder now and then, at times like this,” 12 remarked Armstrong, “how long we will stick together. It’s been five years, as you say. I wonder if it’ll be another five.”
The smile vanished from Darley Roberts’ eyes, leaving them shrewd and gray.
“I wonder,” he repeated.
“It’ll come some time, the break. It’s inevitable. We’re fundamentally too different to avoid a clash.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. It’s written.”
“And when we do?”