malevolent. There was hell in his reddened face, and in his black, inchoate eyes, and in his long, pent-up body. But he kept an air of quiescence, of resignation, as if he were still really benevolent.
"Oh, I don't say that," he remarked in answer to Richard's last, but in a tone which said so plainly what he felt: an insulting tone.
Said Richard to himself: "I wouldn't like to fall into your clutches, my friend, altogether: or to give your benevolence a chance to condemn me."
Aloud, he said to Jack:
"If I can't join in with what you're doing here, heart and soul, I'd better take myself off, hadn't I? You've all been good to me, and in a measure, trusted me. I shall always owe you a debt of gratitude, and keep your trust inviolable. You know that. But I am one of those who must stand and wait—though I don't pretend that by so doing I also serve."
"You take no risks," said Jack quietly.
Another home-thrust.
"Why—I would take risks—if only I felt it was any good."
"What does it matter about it's being any good? You can't tell what good a thing will be or won't be. All you can do is to take a bet on it."
"You see it isn't my nature to bet."
"Not a sporting nature, you mean?"
"No, not a sporting nature."
"Like a woman—you like to feel safe all round," said Jack, slowly raising his dark eyes to Somers in a faint smile of contempt and malevolence. And Richard had to acknowledge to himself that he was cutting a poor figure: nosing in, like a Mr Nosy Parker, then drawing back quickly if he saw two sparks fly.
"Do you think I've let you down? I never pledged myself," he said coldly.
"Oh, no, you never pledged yourself"? said Jack laconically.
"You see I don't believe in these things," said Somers, flushing.
"What's that you don't believe in?"
And Jack watched him with two black, round eyes, with
