And Jack watched him with two black, round eyes, with a spark dancing slowly in each, in a slow gaze putting forth all his power. But Somers now looked back into the two dark, malevolent pools. “In revolutions--and public love and benevolence and feeling righteous,” he said. “What love, what benevolence and righteousness?” asked Jack, vaguely, still watching with those black, sardonic eyes. “I never said anything about them.” “You know you want to be the saviours of Australia,” said Richard. “I didn’t know. But what’s wrong with it?” “I’m no good at saving.” “We don’t pretend to be saviours. We want to do our best for Australia, it being our own country. And the Pommies come out from England to try to upset us. But they won’t. They may as well stop in their dead-and-rotten old country.” “I’m sorry it looks to you like that,” said Richard. “Oh, don’t apologise,” said Jack, with a faint, but even more malevolent smile. “It’s pretty well always the same. You come out from the old countries very cocksure, with a lot of criticism to you. But when it comes to doing anything, you sort of fade out, you’re nowhere. We’re used to it, we don’t mind.” There was a silence of hate. “No, we don’t mind,” Jack continued. “It’s quite right, you haven’t let us down, because we haven’t given you a chance. That’s all. In so far as you’ve had any chance to, you’ve let us down, and we know it.” Richard was silent. Perhaps it was true. And he hated such a truth. “All right,” he said. “I’ve let you down. I suppose I shall have to admit it. I’m sorry--but I can’t help myself.” Jack took not the slightest notice of this admission, sat as if he had not heard it. “I’m sorry I’ve sort of fizzled out so quickly,” said Richard. “But you wouldn’t have me pretend, would you? I’d better be honest at the beginning.” Jack looked at him slowly, with slow, inchoate eyes, and a look of contempt on his face. The contempt on Jack’s face, the contempt of the confident he-man for the shifty she-man, made Richard flush with anger, and drove him back on his deeper self once more. “What do you call honest?” said Jack, sneering. Richard became very silent, very still. He realised that Jack would like to give him a thrashing. The thought was horrible to Richard Lovat, who could never bear to be touched, physically. And the other man sitting there as if he were drunk was very repugnant to him. It was a bad moment. “Why,” he replied, in answer to the question, while Jack’s eyes fixed him with a sort of jeering malevolence: “I can’t honestly say I feel at one with you, you and Kangaroo, so I say so, and stand aside.” “You’ve found out all you wanted to know, I suppose?” said Jack. “I didn’t _want_ to know anything. I didn’t come asking or seeking. It was you who chose to tell me.” “You didn’t try drawing us out, in your own way?” “Why, no, I don’t think so.” Again Jack looked up at him with a faint contemptuous smile of derision.