Stephen carefully abstained from looking at his brother; the respect he had for Hilary--result, perhaps, of the latter's seniority, perhaps of the feeling that Hilary knew more of him than he of Hilary--was beginning to assert itself in a way he did not like.

With every word, too, of this talk, the ground, instead of growing firmer, felt less and less secure.

Hilary spoke: "You mistrust my powers of action ?" "No, no," said Stephen.

"I don't want you to act at all." Hilary laughed.

Hearing that rather bitter laugh, Stephen felt a little ache about his heart.
"Come, old boy," he said, "we can trust each other, anyway." Hilary gave his brother's arm a squeeze.
Moved by that pressure, Stephen spoke: "I hate you to be worried over such a rotten business." The whizz of a motor-car rapidly approaching them became a sort of roar, and out of it a voice shouted: "How are you ?" A hand was seen to rise in salute.