Suddenly he turned toward me.
"I'd rather like to tell you--because I've always suspected you of
loathing my work."
I made a deprecating gesture, which he negatived with a
good-humoured shrug.
"Oh, I didn't care a straw when I believed in myself--and now it's
an added tie between us!"
He laughed slightly, without bitterness, and pushed one of the deep
arm-chairs forward. "There: make yourself comfortable--and here are
the cigars you like."
He placed them at my elbow and continued to wander up and down the
room, stopping now and then beneath the picture.
"How it happened? I can tell you in five minutes--and it didn't take
much longer to happen. . . . I can remember now how surprised and
pleased I was when I got Mrs. Stroud's note. Of course, deep down, I
had always _felt_ there was no one like him--only I had gone with
the stream, echoed the usual platitudes about him, till I half got
to think he was a failure, one of the kind that are left behind. By
Jove, and he _was_ left behind--because he had come to stay! The
rest of us had to let ourselves be swept along or go under, but he
was high above the current--on everlasting foundations, as you say.
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