CHAPTER II

A QUESTION OF EXCHANGE


Most of us need an opposite to sit by the hearth with us sometimes, and
to stir us to wonder or to war. Julian was Valentine's singularly
complete and perfect opposite, in nature if not in deeds. But, after all,
it is the thoughts that are of account rather than the acts, to a mind
like Valentine's. He knew that Julian's nature was totally unlike his
own, so singularly unlike that Julian struck just the right note to
give the strength of a discord to the chord--that often seemed a common
chord--of his own harmony. Long ago, for this reason, or for no special
reason, he had grown to love Julian. Theirs was a fine, clean specimen
of friendship. How fine, Valentine never rightly knew until this evening.

They were sitting together in Valentine's flat in that hour when he
became serious and expansive. He had rather a habit of becoming serious
toward midnight, especially if he was with only one person; and no desire
to please interfered with his natural play of mind and of feeling when he
was with Julian. To affect any feeling with Julian would have seemed like
being on conventional terms with an element, or endeavouring to deceive
one's valet about one's personal habits. Long ago Julian and he had, in
mind, taken up their residence together, fallen into the pleasant custom
of breakfasting, lunching, and dining on all topics in common. Valentine
knew of no barriers between them. And so, now, as they sat smoking, he
expressed his mood without fear or hesitation.