“I know. You don’t want me doing you a bit of good. You’ve made up your mind you won’t have it. But just you try and stop me. I’ve got all night.”

“I said it had a right to smile!” John Chantrell returned a little hysterically to his grievance. “I said so to its face! What’s it got to worry about? It’s made of bronze! It doesn’t have to eat—or sleep—or make a living! It doesn’t even have to live!”

“Nor die,” remarked Sir Reginald thoughtfully.

“Dying’s easy enough!” cried Chantrell with his bitter laugh.

“That depends,” said Hilary quietly where he stood, but Sir Reginald spoke simultaneously and so they did not hear.

“Jumping into the Thames is easy enough, you mean,” Sir Reginald corrected him.

“Same thing,” mumbled Chantrell.

“Not at all,” objected Sir Reginald with a shudder. “Tell me, Chantrell—remember, I’ve got a Chinese right to know!—tell me exactly why you don’t like it here.”

“Oh, God—!” Chantrell lifted a haggard face from his hands to stare at his benefactor. “What is there to like? Ever since I can remember we’ve been sticking it— holding on—hoping—praying, I suppose—for what? You don’t know anything about it, of course! You were young before the War. You had your cake! Let me ask you a question. What’s the first thing you can remember?”

“First thing I can remember?” Sir Reginald knit his brows. “Let’s see. You mean—”

“I mean ’way back,” Chantrell interrupted passionately. “As far back as you can go. Fifty years, it might be. What’s the first thing you can dig up?”

“Let me see, now,” murmured Sir Reginald, playing the game with relish. “‘Way back as far as I can go, eh—good Lord, fifty years—you flatter me! Now let me see. I know! I’ve got it! I was taken to the theatre! You wouldn’t know, though—it was Iolanthe. She was new then. How did it go—?” He broke off to hum a bar of the Westminster trio.

“‘Never, never, never, never,

Faint heart nev-er won fair la-dee—’

I always liked that bit. Seen it dozens of times since. But Gladstone was there that first night, I can remember their pointing him out to me. Grim old bird, Gladstone. But you wouldn’t know about that,” he concluded with mournful condescension.