12


For three days the two friends avoided each other, and then Prothero
went to Benham's room. Benham was smoking cigarettes--Lady Marayne,
in the first warmth of his filial devotion, had prohibited his pipe--
and reading Webb's INDUSTRIAL DEMOCRACY. "Hello!" he said coldly,
scarcely looking up, and continued to read that absorbing work.

"I keep on thinking how I jumped down from that damned dog-cart,"
said Prothero, without any preface.

"It didn't matter in the least," said Benham distantly.

"Oh! ROT," said Prothero. "I behaved like a coward."

Benham shut his book.

"Benham," said Prothero. "You are right about aristocracy, and I am
wrong. I've been thinking about it night and day."

Benham betrayed no emotion. But his tone changed. "Billy," he
said, "there are cigarettes and whiskey in the corner. Don't make a
fuss about a trifle."

"No whiskey," said Billy, and lit a cigarette. "And it isn't a
trifle."

He came to Benham's hearthrug. "That business," he said, "has
changed all my views. No--don't say something polite! I see that