Not in your judgment of me, but in your practical resolve." Mallard examined him from under his eyebrows.
"You are prepared to wait ?" he asked, in an uncertain voice.
"Prepared, no.

But I grant the force of your arguments.

I will try to bring myself to patience." Mallard sat unmoving.

His legs were crossed, and he held his soft felt hat crushed together in both his hands.

Elgar glanced at him once or twice, expecting him to speak, but the other was mute.
"Your judgment of me," Elgar resumed, "is harsh and unfounded.