Renouard, his hand grasping the back of a chair, stared down at him
dumbly.

"Phew! That's a stunning girl. . . Why do you want to sit on that
chair? It's uncomfortable!"

"I wasn't going to sit on it." Renouard walked slowly to the
window, glad to find in himself enough self-control to let go the
chair instead of raising it on high and bringing it down on the
Editor's head.

"Willie kept on gazing at her with tears in his boiled eyes. You
should have seen him bending sentimentally over her at dinner."

"Don't," said Renouard in such an anguished tone that the Editor
turned right round to look at his back.

"You push your dislike of young Dunster too far. It's positively
morbid," he disapproved mildly. "We can't be all beautiful after
thirty. . . . I talked a little, about you mostly, to the
professor. He appeared to be interested in the silk plant--if only
as a change from the great subject. Miss Moorsom didn't seem to
mind when I confessed to her that I had taken you into the
confidence of the thing. Our Willie approved too. Old Dunster
with his white beard seemed to give me his blessing. All those
people have a great opinion of you, simply because I told them that
you've led every sort of life one can think of before you got
struck on exploration. They want you to make suggestions. What do
you think 'Master Arthur' is likely to have taken to?"