Armour,' as significant as ever to two persons intimately concerned with it, but no longer a wrapping of mystery, rather a radiating centre of light.

Its power of illumination was such that it tried my eyes.

I closed them to recall the outlines of the School of Art--it had been built in a fit of economy--and the headings of the last Director's report, which I had kindly sent after Armour to Calcutta.
Perhaps that had been the last straw.
The real meaning of the task of implanting Western ideals in the Eastern mind rose before me when I thought of Armour's doing it--how they would dwindle in the process, and how he must go on handling them and looking at them withered and shrunken for twenty-odd years.

I understood--there was enough left in me to understand--Armour's terrified escape.

I was happy in the thought of him, sailing down the Bay.