They had left the table by now, and were sauntering
together on the terrace.
"Walking?" said Samoval. "I detest it."
"And is that so? Well, well! Of course it's not so very far from
your place at Bispo."
"Not more than half-a-league, I should say."
"Just so," said O'Moy. "Half-a-league there, and half-a-league back:
a league. It's nothing at all, of course; yet for a gentleman who
detests walking it's a devilish long tramp for nothing."
"For nothing?" Samoval checked and looked at his host in faint
surprise. Then he smiled very affably. "But you must not say that,
Sir Terence. I assure you that the pleasure of seeing yourself and
Lady O'Moy cannot be spoken of as nothing."
"You are very good." Sir Terence was the very quintessence of
courtliness, of concern for the other. "But if there were not that
pleasure?"
"Then, of course, it would be different." Samoval was beginning to
be slightly intrigued.
"That's it," said Sir Terence. "That's just what I'm meaning."
"Just what you're meaning? But, my dear General, you are assuming
circumstances which fortunately do not exist."
"Not at present, perhaps. But they might."
Again Samoval stood still and looked at O'Moy.
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