pipe, and a bottle of whisky. These last, of all the articles in the room, alone showed the lustre which comes from frequent use.
The host's appearance matched his surroundings. He wore a dirty flannel shirt, a ragged, paint-stained coat, burst canvas shoes. His hands were unwashed; his hair and heard were uncombed, and neither had been touched by scissors for the last six months.
The guest, on the contrary, was clean, fragrant, irreproachable at every point; in a light grey summer suit, and brown boots; with glossy linen, and glossy, well-kept finger-nails. He had a trick of drawing these together in an even row over the palm of his hand, while he contemplated them admiringly, his head a little on one side. The dabs of light reflected from their surface made them look like a row of polished pink shells. Le Mesurier remembered this trick of old, and hated Shergold for it, but not more than he hated him for everything else.
Shergold, on his arrival, had asked for something to eat; and Le Mesurier had taken bread and cheese from the cupboard, and flung them down on the table before him, and had filled a great tin jug—one of the curious tin jugs never seen elsewhere than in the Islands—with cider from the cask in the corner.
"Yes," Shergold was saying, "we were two hours late; and, but that old Hamon piloted us, we might never have got here at all, I don't believe any one but Hamon could have kept us off the rocks to-day. I only hope we shall make better time going back, or I shall lose the boat for Jersey. That would mean staying in Jacques-le-Port until Monday, and I'm anxious to get to Lily at once. She will be so glad to know I have seen you, to hear all about you."
Le Mesurier's dull, quiescent hate sprang suddenly into activity. He felt he could have throttled the man who sat so calmly on the other side of the table, eating, and speaking between his mouthfuls
