slightly surprised, slightly contemptuous, but he changed it
instantly to conventional interest. "I am afraid I am not an
authority on nerves," he said.

But Chilcote was preoccupied. His thoughts had turned into
another channel.

"How old are you?" he asked, suddenly.

The other did not answer immediately. "My age?" he said at
last, slowly. "Oh, I believe I shall be thirty-six
to-morrow--to be quite accurate."

Chilcote lifted his head quickly.

"Why do you use that tone?" he asked. "I am six months older
than you, and I only wish it was six years. Six years nearer
oblivion--"

Again a slight incredulous contempt crossed the other's eyes.
"Oblivion?" he said. "Where are your ambitions?"

"They don't exist."

"Don't exist? Yet you voice your country? I concluded that
much in the fog."

Chilcote laughed sarcastically.

"When one has voiced one's country for six years one gets