By this time Anderson looked thoroughly ashamed of himself. "For God's sake, Bert, get out and leave me alone," he cried, huskily. "I've been drinking too much, you know." Without another word, Hemming paid his bill and left the place. Beyond the fact that Anderson was in love with Molly, he did not know what to make of that honest soldier's behaviour. Perhaps Molly loved Anderson, and Anderson was too loyal to his old friend to further his own suit? That would make the mildest man act like a drunken collier. Hemming had been striding along at a brisk pace, but, when this idea got hold of him, he turned in his tracks and went back to the Trocadero, eager to tell his friend to go ahead and win the happiness in store for him. But when he reached the place, one of the waiters informed him that Major Anderson had gone. He immediately returned to the club. By this time, he had made up his mind to write to Miss Travers, and say good-bye--for ever. On the club stationery he wrote: "DEAR MOLLY:--My dreams have brought me back to England, and almost to you. But I met Anderson a little while ago, and you will understand why I do not call on you now. It was foolish of me to hope,--but I am afraid I have been a great many kinds of a fool during my aimless life. I intend leaving town in a day or two, and returning to one or other of my distant stamping-grounds. Please think kindly of me, for 'old sake's sake.' I wish you all the happiness life and love can give. "As ever, H.H." He gave the letter to a page, to be immediately posted, and then sat down in a deserted corner and pretended to read. His thoughts were in a turmoil, and his heart ached dully. It seemed to him that fate was pressing him beyond human endurance. His gloomy meditations were interrupted by a genial voice addressing him by his Christian name, and, looking up, he found Mr. Pollin at his elbow. "You are prompt, my boy," remarked Mr. Pollin. Hemming frowned. What did the old ass mean by saying he was prompt, he wondered. "I got to town to-day," he replied, coldly. Pollin pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow. "Let me see,--ten, eleven, twelve,--why, that is very quick work. I mailed the note only twelve days ago," he said. "What note? and what are you talking about?" asked his bewildered hearer. "The note to you." "I did not get any note." "Then what the devil brought you here?" "That is my own business, sir," retorted Hemming, angrily. "Easy, easy, Herbert," cried the old man. "I beg your pardon, sir, for speaking to you like that," replied Hemming, "but I am in a nasty temper to-night, and I really can't make out what you are driving at." "Granted, my dear boy; granted with a heart and a half," exclaimed Pollin. "But tell me," he asked, "do you mean to say that my note, advising you to come to London, never reached you?"