"I was asked," remarked the newspaper man. "Only I couldn't go.
But when did you arrive from Malata?"

"I arrived yesterday at daylight. I am anchored out there in the
bay--off Garden Point. I was in Dunster's office before he had
finished reading his letters. Have you ever seen young Dunster
reading his letters? I had a glimpse of him through the open door.
He holds the paper in both hands, hunches his shoulders up to his
ugly ears, and brings his long nose and his thick lips on to it
like a sucking apparatus. A commercial monster."

"Here we don't consider him a monster," said the newspaper man
looking at his visitor thoughtfully.

"Probably not. You are used to see his face and to see other
faces. I don't know how it is that, when I come to town, the
appearance of the people in the street strike me with such force.
They seem so awfully expressive."

"And not charming."

"Well--no. Not as a rule. The effect is forcible without being
clear. . . . I know that you think it's because of my solitary
manner of life away there."

"Yes. I do think so. It is demoralising. You don't see any one
for months at a stretch. You're leading an unhealthy life."

The other hardly smiled and murmured the admission that true enough