"I hope," said I, "the fortunate man, whoever he is, doesn't object to your calling around on us poor bachelors and breaking the news. However, Jimmy Collingwood is up, with his wife, and will be coming around from his hotel in a few minutes. He'll do for a chaperon. Meanwhile"--I held out the rose--"I wish you all happiness from the bottom of my heart. . . . When is it to be?--and shall I be in time with an alligator for a wedding present?" "Now that's rather prettily offered," said Constantia, half-extending her hand to take the flower, her eyes shining with just the trace of tears. "But you and I are a pair of humbugs, Roddy. To begin with _you_--I don't believe there are any such things as alligators on that island." "What island?" I stammered, and my fingers gave a small, involuntary jerk at the rose's stem as hers closed upon it. "The island about which you wrote that queer short note to--to Dr. Foe--two days ago, asking if he could supply you as nearly as possible with its bearings." "Are you telling me--?" I began. She nodded, searching my face. "Yes, your old friend is the man; and that's where _I_ come in as a humbug. The reason of this call is that I want to know why you two, who used to be devoted, are no longer friends." "Good Lord!" I exclaimed, not loudly, but more or less to myself. "You must forgive my lighting a cigar, Constantia. . . . My mind works slowly." While lighting it I made a miserable attempt to fob her off and gain time. "When an old friend cuts in and carries off--" "That's nonsense," she interrupted sharply; "and you know it; and you ought to know that I know it." "Well, then," I protested rather feebly, hating to hurt her, "you must allow that his behaviour to that man Farrell was a bit beyond the limit. Of course, if you can forgive it--well, I don't know. It's odious to me to be talking like this about the man to whom you're attached--the man I used to worship. And for me, who still would lose a hand, cheerfully, now as ever, to spare you pain! . . . My dear girl, let's talk of something else." "No, we will not," said Constantia firmly. "I came to talk about this, and I will. . . . Of course I know it was wrong of Jack to pursue Mr. Farrell as he did. You remember my telling you I was worried, that day we talked about him after my return from the States? At that time I imagined he was allowing himself for a bribe to be friends again with this man, and it distressed me; because-- well, women have their code, you know, as well as men, and--and I may confess to you now that, even at that time, I had begun to take an interest--" "I see," said I dully, resting my arm along the chimney-piece and staring down into the grate, where Jephson had lit a small fire: for the day, though bright, was chilly.