Then, fearing the hysteria gaining possession of him, he dropped back
violently into an armchair and covered his face.

During this outburst, De Gollyer had deliberately removed his gloves,
folded them and placed them in his breast pocket. His reputation for
social omniscience had been attained by the simple expedient of never
being convinced. As soon as the true situation had been unfolded, a
slight, skeptical smile hovered about his thin, flouting lips, and,
looking at his old friend, he was not unpleasantly aware of something
comic in the attitudes of grief. He made one or two false starts,
buttoning his trim cutaway, and then said in a purposely higher key:

"My dear old chap, we must consider--we really must consider what is to
be done."

"There is only one thing to be done," cried Lightbody in a voice of
thunder.

"Permit me!"

"Kill them!"

"One moment!"

De Gollyer, master of himself, never abandoning his critical enjoyment,
softened his voice to that controlled note that is the more effective
for being opposed to frenzy.

"Sit down--come now, sit down!"