"Well, _you_ said it," he cried, "_I_ didn't," as though the mere mention of such a commonplace event were something terrible to him. He went on, still in the strange excited way which I couldn't understand: "If you think it doesn't hurt me; if you think I _like_ it," he emphasized the word almost spitefully, "then you're just one of those blind shallow fools who think every emotion must be written large across the face. In my profession, Tommy, the face is a mask, not an index." I could have laughed at the fine sense of self-importance which rang through the remark, but I only took his arm affectionately, and would have said something to mollify him, but he shook me off with, "I haven't finished yet," and continued: "I want you to understand me, Tommy; that's all. I tell you I think you a silly little fool the way you're going on; and just because you're my friend I can't think you're any better than you are. Also I can't help being fond of you; and that's what makes it so infernally hard for me to look on and see you behaving as you do. But if my friendship's to be worth anything at all, it won't be by pandering to your folly. That would simply make it a fawning piece of flattery which would do you more harm than good. And now you know." He flung away from me, and left me gazing after him in amazement; for usually he was so reserved, so controlled, that I couldn't understand this uncustomary passion. His eyes were moist as he turned away, and his whole face quivering. But when we next met he was the same severe little figure as before, neat, commanding, uncompromising; but I thought I could feel beneath the mask something human stirring there in the shadow. I was constantly suffering from remorse of conscience for some unkindness to my friend; for on the one hand my vanity was stirred by the evident admiration which my daring aroused among my fellows, and on the other hand I was constantly meeting with some stiff rebuke from Worthing, usually in the flush of success after some adventure; and the result was that my tongue too often proved a traitor to my real affection for him. I did my best to make it up by extra confidences as tokens of my repentance. Whether I overstepped the mark of prudence I don't know; but in any case if at times I thought I had done so, I felt reassured by my knowledge of his secrecy and reserve; a confidence to him was a sacred thing. And so it was that he learnt of my dealings with the smugglers, for I thought they had no concern with the central secret of my father's life, whatever that might be. But I didn't mention Drift-Wood Cavern, though I told all I knew of Ebb-Tide Cave and the Smugglers' Tunnel, for these were open secrets now and lay exposed to all. Also I remember I confided to him how my father always took me to the _Dolphin_ for the summer. And as the spring was very near now, if indeed it wasn't already with us, I said my father would surely reappear some day and take me away.