Other people float you. But I should sink heavily if I did nothing. I've
got to swim all the time."
"Well, you are in the army," said Francis. "That's as much swimming as
anyone expects of a fellow who has expectations. In fact, it's I who
have to swim all the time, if you come to think of it. You are somebody;
I'm not!"
Michael sat up and took a cigarette.
"But I'm not in the army any longer," he said. "That's just what I am
wanting to tell you."
Francis laughed.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Have you been cashiered or shot or
something?"
"I mean that I wrote and resigned my commission yesterday," said
Michael. "If you had dined with me last night--as, by the way, you
promised to do--I should have told you then."
Francis got up and leaned against the chimney-piece. He was conscious of
not thinking this abrupt news as important as he felt he ought to think
it. That was characteristic of him; he floated, as Michael had lately
told him, finding the world an extremely pleasant place, full of warm
currents that took you gently forward without entailing the slightest
exertion. But Michael's grave and expectant face--that Michael who had
been so eagerly kind about meeting his debts for him--warned him that,
however gossamer-like his own emotions were, he must attempt to ballast
himself over this.
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