One afternoon well towards the end of the term Arthur Agar's "gyp" crept in with that valet-like confidential air which seems to be bred of too intimate a knowledge of the extent of one's wardrobe.
"There is a gentleman, sir," he said, "as wants to see you. But in no wise will he give his name, which, he says, you don't know it."
"Is he selling engravings?" asked Arthur.
The "gyp" looked mildly offended. As if he didn't know that sort!
"No, sir. Military man, I should take it."
Arthur Agar had met the Scotch Balaclava veteran in his time too. He hesitated, and the "gyp," who felt that his reputation was at stake, spoke:
"He is eminently a gentleman, sir," he said.
A moment later a man who might have been the wandering Jew _fin de siècle_ stood in the doorway. His smart military moustache was small and evidently trimmed, his face was sunburnt, and in his eyes there gleamed the restlessness of India.
He bowed, and awaited the exit of the man. Then, coming forward, he was able for the first time to see Arthur Agar's face distinctly, and his glance wavered.
At that moment Arthur Agar was staring at him with something in his face that was almost strong. When this man had entered the room, Arthur felt his heart give one great bound which almost choked him. There was a strange physical feeling of vacuity in his breast which seemed to paralyse his breathing powers, and his temples throbbed painfully.
Arthur Agar's life had been passed in eminently pleasant places. The seamy side of existence had always been carefully hidden from his eyes. He therefore did not recognise this strange sense which had leapt into his being--the sense of superhuman, physical, mortal revulsion.
He was divided between two instincts. One side of his nature urged him to shriek like a woman. Had he followed the other, he would have rushed at this man, whom he had never seen before, seeking to do him bodily harm. He would not have paused to reason that in anything like a struggle he would stand no chance against the sinewy, dark-eyed soldier who stood watching him. For there are moments even in this age of self-suppression when we do not pause to think, when he who cannot swim will leap into deep water to save another.