Carson, as the General Manager, put on his spectacles very seriously. He looked quite disturbingly important and very different from what he had ever been like before. “I consider it an honour,” he began, “to interpret to you the wishes of our highest military circles, who wish you to connect yourself with our army . . . naturally only with the highest technical service, with duties which are related to your work, and that straight away in the capacity of—so to speak . . . I mean to say, that it is not a military custom to employ civilian specialists apart from war, but in your case, in consideration of the fact that the present situation approximates very closely to that of war, and with special regard to your exceptional significance, which is enhanced by the present conditions, and . . . and taking also into consideration your peculiar position or rather, to put it more precisely, your extremely private obligations”
“What obligations?” Prokop interrupted him hoarsely.
“Well,” stammered Carson, somewhat embarrassed, “I mean . . . your interests, your relation. . . .”
“I never spoke to you about any interest,” said Prokop sharply.
“Aha!” said Mr. Carson, as if refreshed by this rudeness, “of course you didn’t; there was no need to. We didn’t flaunt that up at the castle. Of course not. Purely personal considerations, that’s what I mean. Powerful intervention, you understand? Of course you’re a foreigner—but that’s been arranged,” he added quickly. “It’ll be enough
