"Let us go and interview the swans," he murmured absently.
CHAPTER VII
AT THE LAVENDER ARMS
In certain moods Paul Harley was impossible as a companion, and I, who
knew him well, had learned to leave him to his own devices at such
times. These moods invariably corresponded with his meeting some
problem to the heart of which the lance of his keen wit failed to
penetrate. His humour might not display itself in the spoken word, he
merely became oblivious of everything and everybody around him. People
might talk to him and he scarce noted their presence, familiar faces
appear and he would see them not. Outwardly he remained the observant
Harley who could see further into a mystery than any other in England,
but his observation was entirely introspective; although he moved amid
the hustle of life he was spiritually alone, communing with the
solitude which dwells in every man's heart.
Presently, then, as we came to the lake at the foot of the sloping
lawns, where water lilies were growing and quite a number of swans had
their habitation, I detected the fact that I had ceased to exist so far
as Harley was concerned.
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