electric lamp. He looked fagged and tired, and though he cheered up a
little as dinner went through, he relapsed into a heavy, silent mood
again, as if he was dragged at by thoughts that had power over him.

"There is nothing the matter with you, is there, Joicey?" asked his
host. "You don't seem to be up to the mark."

"What mark?" said Joicey, with a laugh. "Up to your mark, Hartley, or my
own mark, or someone else's mark? The average mark in Mangadone is low
water. There have been a lot of defaulters this year, and even admitting
that the place is rich, there is a good deal more insolvency about than
I like or than the directors care for. It keeps me grinding and
grinding, and wears the nerves."

"By George," said Hartley, "I should have said that my own job was about
the most nerve-tattering of any. I had an interview with Mhtoon Pah this
afternoon that shook me up a bit."

"Ah, I heard that his boy has disappeared."

The door between the dining-and the drawing-room was thrown open, and
dinner announced as Joicey spoke, and the conversation took another
turn. Many things were bothering Joicey--the financial year generally, a
big commercial failure, the outlook for the rice crop--and as the meal
wore on he grew more dreary, and a pessimism that is part of some men's
minds tinged everything he touched.

"Did Rydal's disappearance affect you at all, personally?" Hartley
asked, with some show of interest.