"Look here, Frank, remember that I am speaking seriously. In the old days we had many a `spree' together--to use a colloquialism--and perhaps our actions, judged from a high standard of morality, were not all they might have been. You know very well that I've never pretended to be a saint, and that I never preach because I can't be such a confounded hypocrite as to rail at others for being as foolish as myself--and--and you'll believe, I hope, that I'm sincere in saying this--that you are doing yourself an injustice, and Vera also, if there's any truth in what we teased you about last night." Never had I seen Bob so much in earnest before, and certainly he had never made such a speech in this life. Dear old Bob, he was a right good fellow at heart, after all! "What do you mean?" I exclaimed, although there was an uneasy consciousness that I was to blame. "Why, to speak plainly, if you have married Vera, and love her, you should not carry another woman's photograph. You should not leave your wife at Elveham. You know what I mean, well enough." A light dawned upon me. Bob thought the picture was that of some courtesan! "Confound it all, old fellow, you jump to conclusions too readily," I replied, with justifiable warmth. "Well, what does it mean, then?" he asked, adding, "I don't wish to pry into your secrets, but you'll excuse me endeavouring, even just a little, to pull you up when you seem off the straight line. I should thank any one for doing so for me, if they meant it honestly." "I'm sure you would, Bob. This, I may tell you, is simply a little tiff which Vera and I have had, owing--oh, well, perhaps that's sufficient." "I see. You don't care to confide in me, therefore as I've business waiting for me, I'll wish you good-bye," he said, rather sadly, rising and extending his hand. "Sit down, Bob, and don't make a fool of yourself. How can I explain to you what I don't myself understand? Answer me that, my Christian moraliser." "Then it has to do with her secret, eh? Have you never fathomed that yet?" he asked, eagerly, sinking into his chair again. "What the devil do you know of her secret?" I demanded, in intense surprise. "How did you know there was one in connection with her?" "Partly from my own observation, and partly from what I picked up after you left Genoa so suddenly. At that time I did not know you were going to marry her, or possibly I should not have been so inquisitive," he replied rather disinterestedly. "Then perhaps you can solve some of these mysteries that have puzzled me so long? Come, tell me everything about it, Bob, and you'll do me an inestimable service. However it may be viewed, I strive to convince myself that Vera is not to blame. Don't keep me in suspense--tell me at once, is that so?" Here was the grand chance come at last. Now I should hear that for which my ears had been on the alert all these weary months.