"Martin's powers of diagnosis do him credit." And, raising his hat, he walked away.
The two young people, both on their feet now, looked after him.
Martin's face was a queer study of contemptuous compunction; Thyme's was startled, softened, almost tearful.
"It won't do him any harm," muttered the young man.

"It'll shake him up." Thyme flashed a vicious look at him.
"I hate you sometimes," she said.

"You're so coarse-grained--your skin's just like leather." Martin's hand descended on her wrist.
"And yours," he said, "is tissue-paper.

You're all the same, you amateurs." "I'd rather be an amateur than a--than a bounder!" Martin made a queer movement of his jaw, then smiled.

That smile seemed to madden Thyme.