fierceness of the one with the fantastic cunning, and the impossibility
of doing the most serious things without a grimace, of the other.

No sooner had Captain Ducie lighted his cigar than with an impatient
movement he put down the window close to which he was sitting. It had
been carefully put up by the stranger while Ducie was in the refreshment
room; but the latter was a man who always studied his own comfort before
that of anyone else, except when self whispered to him that such a
course was opposed to his own interests, which was more than he could
see in the present case.

The stranger gave a little sniggering laugh as the window fell noisily;
then he shivered and drew his furs more closely around him. "It is
strange how fond you English people are of what you call fresh air," he
said. "In Italy fresh air may be a luxury, but it cannot be had in your
hang-dog climate without one takes a catarrh at the same time."

Captain Ducie surveyed him coolly from head to foot for a moment or two.
Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him. "I must really ask you to
pardon my rudeness," he said, lifting his Glengarry. "If the open window
is the least annoyance to you, by all means let it be shut. To me it is
a matter of perfect indifference." As he spoke he pulled the window up,
and then he turned on the stranger with a look that seemed to imply:
"Although I seemed so truculent a few minutes ago, you see what a
good-natured fellow I am at heart." In most of Captain Ducie's actions
there was some ulterior motive at work, however trivial many of his
actions might appear to an outsider, and in the present case it was not
likely that he acted out of mere complaisance to a man whom he had never
seen nor heard of ten minutes previously.