There was at once a great transformation act: Morrison raising his diminished head, and sticking the glass in his eye to look affectionately at Heyst, a bottle being uncorked, and so on.

It was agreed that nothing should be said to anyone of this transaction.
Morrison, you understand, was not proud of the episode, and he was afraid of being unmercifully chaffed.
"An old bird like me! To let myself be trapped by those damned Portuguese rascals! I should never hear the last of it.

We must keep it dark." From quite other motives, among which his native delicacy was the principal, Heyst was even more anxious to bind himself to silence.

A gentleman would naturally shrink from the part of heavenly messenger that Morrison would force upon him.

It made Heyst uncomfortable, as it was.