with the working classes. She did a lot of good down Poplar way.
Shouldn't have thought she'd have been your sort, Julian."

"Why?"

"Too serious."

Julian smiled--rather a peculiar, introspective smile.

"I, too, can, be serious sometimes," he said.

His friend thrust his hands into his trousers pocket and, leaning
back in his chair, looked steadfastly at his guest.

"I believe you can, Julian," he admitted. "Sometimes I am not
quite sure that I understand you. That's the worst of a man with
the gift for silence."

"You're not a great talker yourself," the younger man reminded his
host.

"When you get me going on my own subject," Furley remarked, "I
find it hard to stop, and you are a wonderful listener. Have you
got any views of your own? I never hear them."

Julian drew the box of cigarettes towards him.

"Oh, yes, I've views of my own," he confessed. "Some day,
perhaps, you shall know what they are."