"Some men don't," said the old lawyer laconically; "but if the trouble is not your own that is easy to understand." At this Dick gave a short laugh. He wanted it to be believed that the trouble was not his own, and yet he did not quite care to be supposed indifferent to it. "It's an old story," he said. "It is something that happened to--Tom Wyld, an old crony of mine out on the other side." "I suppose you mean in America. No more slang than you can help, please. It's admirably expressive sometimes, I allow: but not being used to it in my youth I have some difficulty in following. Well, about Tom Wyld--one of the old judge's sons or grandsons, I suppose." Dick's complexion heightened a little. "Oh, not any one you ever heard of--a fellow I picked up--out there." "Oh, a fellow you picked up out there?" "It was in one of the new States far West; not the sort of place for nicety of any sort, sir, to tell the truth. Judge Lynch and not much else, in the way of law." "Works very well I don't doubt--simplifies business immensely," said the old lawyer, nodding his head. "Makes business, too--lots of it. Well, sir, my friend met with a girl there." Dick seemed to have great difficulty in getting this out. He stammered and his healthy complexion grew now pale, now red. "Most likely--they generally do, both in novels and out of them," the old gentleman said. "You had better tell me your story straight off. I shall interrupt you no more." "Well, sir, the girl was very young, very pretty, I might say beautiful--not like anything he had ever met before. Without training, but he thought at her pliable age it was so easy to remedy that." (The old lawyer shook his head with a groan but said nothing.) "She had never seen anything but the rough people about, and knew only their manners and ways. Everything went on well enough for a little while after they were married." "Good Lord, they were married!" "What else?" said Dick, turning scarlet. "He respected her as every man must respect the woman he--the woman he--thinks he loves." "I am glad you have the sense to see that he only thought he----Well, and what was the end of it, Mr. Dick?" "The end of it was--what you have foreseen, sir," said Dick, bowing his head. "The fellow is my friend, that's to say Tom did all he could. I don't think he was without patience with her. After, when she left him for good, or rather for bad, bad as could be, he did everything he could to help her. He offered, not to take her back, that was not possible, but to provide for her and--and all that. She had all the savage virtues as well as faults. She was honourable in her way. She would take nothing from him. She even made out what she called a paper, poor thing, to set him free. She would not take her freedom herself and leave him bound, she said. And then she disappeared." "Leaving him the paper?"