“I believe it would hurt you not to be prim and precise,” said Baltazar. “I wonder what would happen if you really ever let yourself go?”
Quong Ho smiled blandly. “I have been taught, sir, that self-discipline is the foundation of all virtue.”
Baltazar laughed. “You’re young. Stick to it. I’ve had as much as is good for me at my time of life. I’m going to end my days, thank God, in delightful lack of restraint. I’m going to let myself go, my friend, over this new job, like a runaway horse. At last I’ve bullied them into giving me a free hand. It’s a change from a year ago, isn’t it?”
“I agree that the change has been most beneficent,” said Quong Ho.
“Yes, by Jove!” cried Baltazar. “Then we were just a couple of grubby bookworms doing nothing for ourselves or our fellow-creatures. Now—here you are dealing with thoughts that shake the world; and I—by Jove!—one of the leading men in England. I should like to see the bomb that would knock us out this time.”
He hitched up his shirt-cuffs and plunged again into his article. He had scarcely written a sentence, when the door opened and Marcelle appeared on the threshold. He pushed back his chair and rose, and advanced to her with both hands outstretched.
“Hello! Hello! What has blown you in at this time of day?”
She looked up at him as she took his hand, and he saw there was trouble in her eyes.
“I know I’m disturbing you, but I can’t help it,” she said quickly. “I must speak to you.”
“Perhaps you would like to speak with Mr. Baltazar in private,” said Quong Ho.