"Instinct!" Robert echoed ironically. "If you know where most
instincts lead to----" He stopped, and then went on in a cold,
matter-of-fact tone, as though he were diagnosing a disease. "It's not
my business--but since you've come here I'd be interested to hear what
you think is going to be the end of it all. I might persuade you to
look facts in the face. By position you're a little suburban nobody,
who was pushed out to West Africa to become a third-rate little trader.
You've survived, and you've got a little money to burn. To you it
seems a fortune. But it won't pay this woman's cigarette bills. She
makes you ridiculous."

"I am ridiculous," Cosgrave interrupted patiently. "I always have
been, you know. I expect I always shall be. I'm the square peg in the
round hole--and that's always comic. But she doesn't laugh at me.
She's just let me join in like a good sport. I know I'm out of place,
too, among her smart pals--you needn't rub it in--but she doesn't seem
to make any difference, I might be the smartest of the lot. I tell
you, when I think of the good times I've had, I feel--I feel"--absurd
and drunken tears came into his eyes--"as though I were in church--I'm
so awfully grateful."

"Her smart pals pay pretty dearly for their good times. It will be
time to be grateful when she's had enough of you." It escaped him
against his will. He knew the futility of such taunts which seemed to
betray an anger too senseless to be admitted. He did not care enough
to be angry.

"You--you don't understand, old chap. Seems cheek--my saying that to
you. But you're not like other people--you don't need the things they
have to have to keep going. And, anyhow, she's not responsible for the