“Ah, Mr. Perrin—do come in. I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you coming at this time? Sit down, won't you?” Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed haggard and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to collect his thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand. “But you must be tired—you must indeed. Really, I insist—this easy-chair by the fire.” Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between his hands, sat down. “I'm sure you 'll excuse me whilst I just address this letter—hum, yes—only a minute.” A silence, during which some heavy clock ticked solemnly in the distance: “Of course, he 'll wait—of course, he 'll wait—of course, he 'll wait.” At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his clothes were very black, his fingers were very long. “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm not going to keep you long—really, only a few moments, hum, yes. I'm sure you 're tired after a long day. But come, Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we've got to discuss this matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can assure you that I have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you in this matter.” Perrin flushed and half rose from his chair. “No, please, Mr. Perrin, I beg of you—please be seated—hum—I really am most anxious to prove to you that I am nothing but friendly in this matter.” Moy-Thompson paused and tapped his nails, with sharp little rattling noises, one against the other. “Now, Mr. Perrin, I'm sure you must agree with me that a disturbance like that of this afternoon is exceedingly unusual and I may say with very considerable truth that no one who was present was more completely and remarkably surprised than myself. I do not pretend,” he went on with a smile and lifting a deprecating hand towards the fire, “that I am so pleasantly self-assured as to believe that there is no unsound plank in this good ship of ours; there are many things, I am sure, that would be the better for a newer and a younger hand, but I had supposed—and naturally supposed, I think—that any complaints that there were would be brought to the committee or myself privately. From time to time complaints have been brought to me and I may say that I have always dealt with them to the best of my ability, but—” here Moy-Thompson paused, looked at Perrin, and then smiled very gently—“do you know that you are the very last man whom I should have expected to have come to me with any complaint of any kind?” Perrin had made no reply, had attempted to make no reply to this long speech. He sat in his chair without any other movement than the regular and rapid turning of the mortarboard between his hands. His head was bent towards the floor. At this last word he looked up as though he would reply and half started from his chair. Moy-Thompson held forward his large white hand.