He had hoped very much to get through his call without coming across
Freeland's wife and children, and was greatly relieved to find Tod,
seated on a window-sill in front of his cottage, smoking, and gazing
apparently at nothing. In taking the other corner of the window-sill,
the thought passed through his mind that Freeland was really a very
fine-looking fellow. Tod was, indeed, about Malloring's own height of
six feet one, with the same fairness and straight build of figure and
feature. But Tod's head was round and massive, his hair crisp and uncut;
Malloring's head long and narrow, his hair smooth and close-cropped.
Tod's eyes, blue and deep-set, seemed fixed on the horizon, Malloring's,
blue and deep-set, on the nearest thing they could light on. Tod smiled,
as it were, without knowing; Malloring seemed to know what he was
smiling at almost too well. It was comforting, however, that Freeland
was as shy and silent as himself, for this produced a feeling that
there could not be any real difference between their points of view.
Perceiving at last that if he did not speak they would continue sitting
there dumb till it was time for him to go, Malloring said:

"Look here, Freeland; about my wife and yours and Tryst and the Gaunts,
and all the rest of it! It's a pity, isn't it? This is a small place,
you know. What's your own feeling?"

Tod answered:

"A man has only one life."

Malloring was a little puzzled.

"In this world. I don't follow."