"Yes, sir," said Adam, after some hesitation; "I'll hear what it is. If I can help mend anything I will. Anger 'ull mend nothing, I know. We've had enough o' that."
"I was going to the Hermitage," said Arthur. "Will you go there with me and sit down? We can talk better there."
The Hermitage had never been entered since they left it together, for Arthur had locked up the key in his desk. And now, when he opened the door, there was the candle burnt out in the socket; there was the chair in the same place where Adam remembered sitting; there was the waste-paper basket full of scraps, and deep down in it, Arthur felt in an instant, there was the little pink silk handkerchief. It would have been painful to enter this place if their previous thoughts had been less painful.
They sat down opposite each other in the old places, and Arthur said, "I'm going away, Adam; I'm going into the army."
Poor Arthur felt that Adam ought to be affected by this announcement—ought to have a movement of sympathy towards him. But Adam's lips remained firmly closed, and the expression of his face unchanged.
