He reflected. "Queer I should have forgotten! Did you hear any guns?"
I said I had heard them.
"Was it last night?"
"Late last night. One or two in the morning."
He leaned back on his hand and looked at me, smiling frankly. "Even now," he said, "it's odd, but the whole of that seems like a silly dream. Do you think there was a Lord Warden? Do you really believe we sank all that machinery--for fun? It was a dream. And yet--it happened."
By all the standards of the former time it would have been remarkable that I talked quite easily and freely with so great a man. "Yes," I said; "that's it. One feels one has awakened--from something more than that green gas. As though the other things also--weren't quite real."
He knitted his brows and felt the calf of his leg thoughtfully. "I made a speech at Colchester," he said.
I thought he was going to add something more about that, but there lingered a habit of reticence in the man that held him for the moment. "It is a very curious thing," he broke away; "that this pain should be, on the whole, more interesting than disagreeable."
"You are in pain?"
