A different being from the gay, successful soldier who had come in to announce his honours confronted me.

He threw down cap and stick and passed his hand over his crisp brown hair.
"I don't know whether you're a friend of mine or not," he said, hands on hips and gaitered legs slightly apart.

"I've never been able to make out.

All through our intercourse, in spite of your courtesy and hospitality, there has been some sort of reservation on your part." "If that is so," said I, diplomatically, "it is because of the defects of my national quality." "That's possibly what I've felt," said he.

"But it doesn't matter a damn with regard to what I want to say.