His composed, indifferent manner was true to his words. He spoke, indeed,
as one to whom things mattered little, yet who, being originally of a
social and communicative nature, talks on fluently to the first
intelligent listener after a season of solitude. Larcher was keen to make
the most of a mood so favorable to his own purpose in seeking the man's
acquaintance.

"You may trust me to believe nobody but yourself, if the subject ever
comes up in my presence," said Larcher. "I can certainly testify to the
cool, unimpassioned manner in which you speak of it."

"I find little in life that's worth getting warm or impassioned about,"
said Davenport, something half wearily, half contemptuously.

"Have you lost interest in the world to that extent?"

"In my present environment."

"Oh, you can easily change that. Get into livelier surroundings."

Davenport shook his head. "My immediate environment would still be the
same; my memories, my body; 'this machine,' as Hamlet says; my old,
tiresome, unsuccessful self."

"But if you got about more among mankind,--not that I know what your
habits are at present, but I should imagine--" Larcher hesitated.

"You perceive I have the musty look of a solitary," said Davenport.
"That's true, of late. But as to getting about, 'man delights not me'--to