He did not listen to what I was saying, but stood staring into the fire; at last he turned round and held out a hand to me. "I must thank you," he began; "and there is one other thing I have got to ask you before I say good-bye. My father asked me to make you promise that you would never mention what I have told you about his life being saved by your father, or anything about him. It seems to be a sort of compact, I don't understand it. He doesn't want your people to know anything about me, but only you." I promised, of course, but I felt rather bothered. "We may meet some day in the street," he said, and he pushed his hand into mine; but I let it go, and told him to sit down again. For this last speech of his was annoying, he had evidently got a wrong idea of me. "It is no use talking rot," I said. "To begin with, what on earth have you got to thank me for?" "If Colonel Marten hadn't saved my father's life, I should never have been born," he said. "And you have come to thank me for that?" I said, and I did not mean to be rude. "I was told to, you see," he answered. I looked at him and we both laughed, though I went on laughing long after he had stopped. The idea of me being thanked for anybody's existence was beautifully comic. "It is very good of you to have come," I said, as soon as I could; "but I don't deserve any thanks and you know that I don't." "You haven't got much to do with it, perhaps, but you were here and I should never have been forgiven if I hadn't come to see you. I shan't come again." "Oh, bosh," I replied. "What's the good of talking stuff like that? Of course you will come again, and I am coming to see you, if I may. How long have you been up here?" "This is the beginning of my third year." "What did you get in Mods?" I asked, for I felt sure that he had done well. "A First," he answered. "I wish I had. Where do you live?" "I shan't tell you." "You may just as well, for I shall easily find out." He stood up again, and talked as he strode up and down my room. "I have been here two years," he began, "and I know that it is impossible for us to be friends; and when you have thought it over you will think as I do. My father teaches fencing and boxing in London; I was educated at a school you never heard of; I am helped here by an old gentleman who discovered that I was more or less intelligent. He has a mania for experiments, and I am his latest hobby. Have I said enough to put you off, or must I go on?" "I suppose I can please myself when I choose my friends," I said. "That you most certainly can't do here," he answered. "Let me alone and I won't bother you any more. Good-night, your bell is going for dinner." He walked straight out of my room, and before he had closed the door Jack Ward rushed in. "Who is that man?" he asked at once. "I am not going to tell you," I answered, for I wanted time to think.