about something was evident on his fine bronzed face. He was a
lean, lounging, active man. The journalist continued the
conversation.

"And so you were dining yesterday at old Dunster's."

He used the word old not in the endearing sense in which it is
sometimes applied to intimates, but as a matter of sober fact. The
Dunster in question was old. He had been an eminent colonial
statesman, but had now retired from active politics after a tour in
Europe and a lengthy stay in England, during which he had had a
very good press indeed. The colony was proud of him.

"Yes. I dined there," said Renouard. "Young Dunster asked me just
as I was going out of his office. It seemed to be like a sudden
thought. And yet I can't help suspecting some purpose behind it.
He was very pressing. He swore that his uncle would be very
pleased to see me. Said his uncle had mentioned lately that the
granting to me of the Malata concession was the last act of his
official life."

"Very touching. The old boy sentimentalises over the past now and
then."

"I really don't know why I accepted," continued the other.
"Sentiment does not move me very easily. Old Dunster was civil to
me of course, but he did not even inquire how I was getting on with
my silk plants. Forgot there was such a thing probably. I must
say there were more people there than I expected to meet. Quite a
big party."