On the contrary: it was not at all hard to explain. Simply, I had caught him day-dreaming. That vivid color still in his cheeks told me that I had stumbled on a privacy. A young girl approaching womanhood knows these soft _oubliances_, these shy yet hardy excursions of the spirit that lead nowhither and die of their own over-sweetness. It is love of which she dreams; and this was his equivalent. He just "mooned." It was not understanding--he "didn't want to miss anything." His was not a technician's, but a poet's nature. And caught unawares he blushed. "Of course my real job would be one of these Expeditions," he mumbled. I pursued him relentlessly. "Which Expeditions?" "Well, between you and I, they've started work on several of them. In Africa and India and places. You see I'm awfully keen on Air-geography. If this dashed ankle of mine ever gives me a chance again, that is. Bobby always said that was my line of country. He was the chap for the technical end. Thought in surds, Bobby did. He put me on to all those Journals and things, and--after--well, I sort-of keep it up. _He_ was your man for that." "By Bobby do you mean your friend Maxwell?" "Yes. Bobby," he replied, his eyes far out over the sea. III He spoke the name with the most perfect readiness and simplicity; there was neither tremor in his voice nor the faintest sign of pain in his dark and steady eyes. He was not even self-conscious under my (I admit) prolonged and deliberate gaze. By what mystery of self-absolution he had expunged the sinister fact for which Esdaile vouched I could not tell. He repeated Bobby's name. "Yes, Bobby was your man for all that. Fearfully hot stuff. When Bobby opened his mouth I used to dry up." Then, still without removing my eyes from him, "I never knew Bobby," I said. "But I know a man who did." He turned to me swiftly. "Who was that?" he demanded. "A man called Hanson. An Australian. He says he knew him in Gallipoli." His brows were knitted. "Hanson? Hanson? What was his other name?" "Dudley." "Hanson? Hanson? Did he say he knew me?" "He wasn't sure. He thinks he ran across you. He knew you by sight, anyway, for he described you to me." "Hanson? No, I give it up. Don't remember him at all. You met such crowds of chaps, you see--sometimes it's just like a dream----"