He had the look of a man at peace with himself.
And Rufus relaxed.

The tension went out of his attitude; the volcanic fires died down.

For half a minute or more he sat absolutely passive.
Then slowly, with massive deliberation, he moved, unshipped the oars, and bent himself to pull.

In another ten seconds the boat was rushing through the water under the compulsion of his powerful strokes, heading straight for the boats of the fishing fleet that dotted the bay....
It must have been fully a quarter of an hour later that Knight, having finished his cigarette, came out of his reverie.
"And so, you see," he remarked in the tone of one pleasantly rounding off a conversation, "until my picture is painted I remain the slave of my dream.

I wonder if I have succeeded at all in making myself intelligible." His eyes opened lazily and met Rufus's sombre gaze; they held a laughing challenge, the easy challenge of the practised fencer who condescends to try a bout with ignorance.
Stolidly Rufus met the look.