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.”
“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. It was Mr. Purcey driving his A.i. Damyer back to Wimbledon. Before him in the sunlight a little shadow fled; behind him the reek of petrol seemed to darken the road.
“There's a symbol for you,” muttered Hilary.
“How do you mean?” said Stephen dryly. The word “symbol” was distasteful to him.
“The machine in the middle moving on its business; shadows like you and me skipping in front; oil and used-up stuff dropping behind. Society-body, beak, and bones.”
Stephen took time to answer. “That's rather far-fetched,” he said. “You mean these Hughs and people are the droppings?”
“Quite so,” was Hilary's sardonic answer. “There's the body of that fellow and his car between our sort and them--and no getting over it, Stevie.”
“Well, who wants to? If you're thinking of our old friend's Fraternity, I'm not taking any.” And Stephen suddenly added: “Look here, I believe this affair is all 'a plant.'”
“You see that Powder Magazine?” said Hilary. “Well, this business that you call a 'plant' is more like that. I don't want to alarm you, but I think you as well as our young friend Martin, are inclined to underrate the emotional capacity of human nature.”
Disquietude broke up the customary mask on Stephen's face: “I don't understand,” he stammered.
“Well, we're none of us machines, not even amateurs like me--not even under-dogs like Hughs. I fancy you may find a certain warmth, not to say violence, about this business. I tell you frankly that I don't live in married celibacy quite with impunity. I can't answer for anything, in fact. You had better stand clear, Stephen--that's all.”
Stephen marked his thin hands quivering, and this alarmed him as nothing else had done.
They walked on beside the water. Stephen spoke quietly, looking at the ground. “How can I stand clear, old man, if you are going to get into a mess? That's impossible.”
He saw at once that this shot, which indeed was from his heart, had gone right home to Hilary's. He sought within him how to deepen the impression.