‘Nor can I remember your name,’ answered Saxonstowe. ‘But--we met in the Stone Hall at Simonstower.’ Lucian’s face lighted with the smile which had become famous for its sweetness. ‘And with rapiers!’ he exclaimed. ‘I remember--I remember! You are Dickie--Dickie Feversham.’ He began to laugh. ‘How quaint that scene was!’ he said. ‘I have often thought that it had the very essence of the dramatic in it. Let me see--what did we fight about? Was it Haidee? How amusing--because Haidee and I are married.’ ‘That,’ said Saxonstowe, ‘seems a happy ending to the affair. But I think it ended happily at the time. And even yet I cannot remember your name.’ Mr. Robertson stepped forward before Lucian could reply. He introduced the young men to each other in due form. Then Saxonstowe knew that his old enemy was one of the great literary lions of the day; and Lucian recognised Saxonstowe as the mighty traveller of whose deeds most people were talking. They looked at each other with interest, and Mr. Robertson felt a glow of pride when he remembered that his was the only imprint which had ever appeared on a title-page of Lucian Damerel’s, and that he was shortly to publish the two massive volumes in which Viscount Saxonstowe had given to the world an account of his wondrous wanderings. He rubbed his hands as he regarded these two splendid young men; it did him good to be near them. Lucian was worshipping Saxonstowe with the guileless adoration of a child that looks on a man who has seen great things and done great things. It was a trick of his: he had once been known to stand motionless for an hour, gazing in silence at a man who had performed a deed of desperate valour, had suffered the loss of his legs in doing it, and had been obliged to exhibit himself with a placard round his neck in order to scrape a living together. Lucian was now conjuring up a vision of the steppes and plains over which Saxonstowe had travelled with his life in his hands. ‘When will you dine with us?’ he said, suddenly bursting into speech. ‘To-night--to-morrow?--the day after--when? Come before everybody snaps you up--you will have no peace for your soul or rest for your body after your book is out.’ ‘Then I shall run away to certain regions where one can easily find both,’ answered Saxonstowe laughingly. ‘I assure you I have no intention of wasting either body or soul in London.’ Then they arranged that the new lion was to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Lucian Damerel on the following day, and Lucian departed, while Saxonstowe followed Mr. Robertson into his private room. ‘Your lordship has met Mr. Damerel before?’ said the publisher, who had something of a liking for gossip about his pet authors. ‘Once,’ answered Saxonstowe. ‘We were boys at the time. I had no idea that he was the poet of whose work I have heard so much since coming home.’