The mention of Nicholas Fenn's name seemed
to have transformed him.
"If I were you, Furley," he advised, "for the sake of our
friendship, I wouldn't try. There is no consideration in the
world which would alter my intentions."
There was the sound of the lifting of the outer latch, a knock at
the door. The incoming visitors stood upon no ceremony. Mr.
Stenson and Catherine showed themselves upon the threshold.
Mr. Stenson waved aside all ceremony and at once checked Furley's
attempt to rise to his feet.
"Pray don't get up, Furley," he begged, shaking hands with him.
"I hope you'll forgive such an informal visit. I met Miss Abbeway
on my way down to the sea, and when she told me that she was
coming to call on you, I asked leave to accompany her."
"You're very welcome, sir," was the cordial response. "It's an
honour which I scarcely expected."
Julian found chairs for every one, and Mr. Stenson, recognising
intuitively a certain state of tension, continued his
good-humoured remarks.
"Miss Abbeway and I," he said, "have been having a most
interesting conversation, or rather argument. I find that she is
entirely of your way of thinking, Furley. You both belong to the
order of what I call puffball politicians."
Catherine laughed heartily at the simile.
"Mr. Stenson is a glaring example," she pointed out, "of those who
do not know their own friends. Mr. Furley and I both believe that
some time or other our views will appeal to the whole of the
intellectual and unselfish world.
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