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He
got down meekly enough, although he felt that the return to Maltby's
yard might have many points of interest. But the spirit had gone
out of him.

12

For three days the two friends avoided each other, and then Prothero
went to Benham's room. Benham was smoking cigarettes--Lady Marayne,
in the first warmth of his filial devotion, had prohibited his pipe--
and reading Webb's INDUSTRIAL DEMOCRACY. "Hello!" he said coldly,
scarcely looking up, and continued to read that absorbing work.
"I keep on thinking how I jumped down from that damned dog-cart,"
said Prothero, without any preface.
"It didn't matter in the least," said Benham distantly.
"Oh! ROT," said Prothero. "I behaved like a coward."
Benham shut his book.
"Benham," said Prothero. "You are right about aristocracy, and I am
wrong. I've been thinking about it night and day."
Benham betrayed no emotion. But his tone changed. "Billy," he
said, "there are cigarettes and whiskey in the corner. Don't make a
fuss about a trifle."
"No whiskey," said Billy, and lit a cigarette.


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