questions kept on rising to my lips, and I dare say it was the same

with the others. The Journalist tried to relieve the tension by

telling anecdotes of Hettie Potter. The Time Traveller devoted his

attention to his dinner, and displayed the appetite of a tramp.

The Medical Man smoked a cigarette, and watched the Time Traveller

through his eyelashes. The Silent Man seemed even more clumsy than

usual, and drank champagne with regularity and determination out of

sheer nervousness. At last the Time Traveller pushed his plate away,

and looked round us. 'I suppose I must apologize,' he said. 'I was

simply starving. I've had a most amazing time.' He reached out his

hand for a cigar, and cut the end. 'But come into the smoking-room.

It's too long a story to tell over greasy plates.' And ringing the

bell in passing, he led the way into the adjoining room.

'You have told Blank, and Dash, and Chose about the machine?' he

said to me, leaning back in his easy-chair and naming the three new

guests.

'But the thing's a mere paradox,' said the Editor.

'I can't argue to-night. I don't mind telling you the story, but

I can't argue. I will,' he went on, 'tell you the story of what

has happened to me, if you like, but you must refrain from

interruptions. I want to tell it. Badly. Most of it will sound like

lying. So be it! It's true--every word of it, all the same. I was in

my laboratory at four o'clock, and since then ... I've lived eight

The Time Machine