He put the knife down with a little clap as Romarin beckoned to the waiter. There was distress on Romarin's face. He was not conscious of having adopted a superior attitude. But again he told himself that he must make allowances. Men who don't come off in Life's struggle are apt to be touchy, and he was; after all, the same old Marsden, the man with whom he desired to be at peace. "Are you quite fair to me?" he asked presently, in a low voice. Again the knife was taken up and its point advanced. "Yes, I am," said Marsden in a slightly raised voice; and he indicated with the knife the mirror at the end of the table. "You know you've done well, and I, to all appearances, haven't; you can't look at that glass and not know it. But I've followed the line of my development too, no less logically than you. My life's been mine, and I'm not going to apologise for it to a single breathing creature. More, I'm proud of it. At least, there's been singleness of intention about it. So I think I'm strictly fair in pointing that out when you talk about helping me." "Perhaps so, perhaps so," Romarin agreed a little sadly. "It's your tone more than anything else that makes things a little difficult. Believe me, I've no end in my mind except pure friendliness." "No-o-o," said Marsden--a long "no" that seemed to deliberate, to examine, and finally to admit. "No. I believe that. And you usually get what you set out for. Oh yes. I've watched your rise--I've made a point of watching it. It's been a bit at a time, but you've got there. You're that sort. It's on your forehead--your destiny." Romarin smiled. "Hallo, that's new, isn't it?" he said. "It wasn't your habit to talk much about destiny, if I remember rightly. Let me see; wasn't this more your style--'will, passion, laughs-at-impossibilities and says,' et cetera--and so forth? Wasn't that it? With always the suspicion not far away that you did things more from theoretical conviction than real impulse after all?" A dispassionate observer would have judged that the words went somewhere near home. Marsden was scraping together with the edge of his knife the crumbs of his broken roll. He scraped them into a little square, and then trimmed the corners. Not until the little pile was shaped to his liking did he look surlily up. "Let it rest, Romarin," he said curtly. "Drop it," he added. "Let it alone. If I begin to talk like that, too, we shall only cut one another up. Clink glasses--there--and let it alone." Mechanically Romarin clinked; but his bald brow was perplexed. "'Cut one another up?'" he repeated. "Yes. Let it alone." "'Cut one another up?'" he repeated once more. "You puzzle me entirely." "Well, perhaps I'm altogether wrong. I only wanted to warn you that I've dared a good many things in my time. Now drop it."