"Because," Mannering continued, "I have left the world of great things,
as you and I used to regard them, very far behind. I am glad to see you
here, of course, but I cannot think of any serious subject which it would
be useful or profitable for us to discuss. You understand me, Borrowdean,
I am sure!"

Borrowdean closely eyed this man who once had been his friend.

"The old sore still rankles, then, Mannering," he said. "Has time done
nothing to heal it?"

Mannering laughed easily.

"How can you think me such a child?" he exclaimed. "If Rochester himself
were to come to see me he would be as welcome as you are. In fact," he
continued, more seriously, "if you could only realize, my friend, how
peaceful and happy life here may be, amongst the quiet places, you would
believe me at once when I assure you that I can feel nothing but
gratitude towards those people and those circumstances which impelled me
to seek it."

"What should you think, then," Borrowdean asked, watching his friend
through half-closed eyes, "of those who sought to drag you from it?"

Mannering's laugh was as free and natural as the wind itself. He had
bared his head, and had turned directly seawards.

"Hatred, my dear Borrowdean," he declared, "if I thought that they had a
single chance of success. As it is--indifference."