“So I heard,” answered Loring indifferently. “By-the-bye, I didn’t see the Romaynes. Aren’t they in town? I’ve not had time to look any one up yet, of course, but I thought I should see Julian to-day.” Lord Garstin paused a moment before he answered. “They were there,” he said. “I saw them come in. You’ll see them at the house, no doubt. The little woman’s been invisible for two or three days; ill--rather bad, somebody said.” “Ill!” echoed Loring; and there was a genuine surprise in his tone which no information yet bestowed upon him had evoked. “Really!” He paused a moment, and then said, with his own peculiar smile: “And how is Julian? Does the hard-working line hold out?” Lord Garstin smiled, more pleasantly than Loring had done, and shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty well, I suppose,” he said. “I met his chief the other night, and he was not enthusiastic. He’s a nice boy, though. You’re a great chum of his, aren’t you, Loring?” Loring nodded. “Then let me give you a hint to have an eye to his proceedings at the club. Cards are all very well, you know, but a boy like that should be moderate. You might be able to talk to him about it. I gave his mother a hint a few weeks ago. She’s a nice little woman. See what you can do, will you? I’ve got an idea that the foolish fellow doesn’t play only at the club.” They were close to Mrs. Halse’s house as Lord Garstin finished, and his last words were spoken quickly and significantly. Loring answered only by a slight movement of his eyebrows, and then they were in the hall, being swept on by a seething crowd to pay their respects to the hostess and the bride. “Loring, old man! How are you?” Loring and Lord Garstin had been thrown together again after offering their congratulations, and they were standing side by side. Julian Romayne was close beside them, having come up from behind through the crowd unperceived, his hand eagerly, even demonstratively, outstretched. Thinking things over in private later on, Marston Loring thought with a cynical smile that if he had not previously realised his six months’ absence, he might have done so when young Romayne’s voice fell on his ear. The change in it, though subtle, was so marked--to the man who had not heard it in course of transition--that it seemed to place years rather than months between their last meeting and the present, and it amply prepared Loring for what he saw when he turned round.