Ivor exerted himself to ensure Mr. Darnley’s approval, and carefully marked the moments which held his employer’s enthusiasm and the subjects that provoked it. Apparently, though, any talk of his own life and ideas was of no interest, or very little, to Mr. Darnley. And how can one capture people’s friendship if they are obviously bored by everything that concerns one’s self? No; not quite everything. Ivor soon found that any talk about his particular private weaknesses was always sure to rouse Mr. Darnley to a subdued, secret fury of eagerness. As soon as Ivor dropped any chance apologetic word about the terrors that he had so strangely inherited, and as long as he continued telling of them, so long, and so long only, did Mr. Darnley seem to have an interest and a liking for him--an interest wonderfully keen, a liking deep and strong. And then, if he took advantage of this evident friendship to go on to other matters, then the evident friendship would immediately chill off and vanish into an annoyed indifference. Mr. Darnley could not be touched by conversation on any other topic. But that one topic was always sure of the most instant success; it had only to hint its presence in the dialogue for Mr. Darnley’s whole zeal to leap to the alert. Mr. Darnley even seemed to be always watching for its appearance, and, what was strange and even exasperating, would put up with hours of Ivor’s conversation in the obvious hope that sooner or later the one matter of interest would crop up into the talk. It is annoying to find one’s company cherished only for the sake of conversation on one particular subject, and Ivor began deliberately to avoid the topic, as much from hurt vanity as from personal pride.