"Ah! Mr. Ryder!" The man spoke rather gaspingly, as though something interfered with his breathing. He gazed at Ryder with eyes that burned strangely. Altogether he did not seem in good health, and again Ryder wondered if he was quite right in his mind. Perhaps ill health might explain his odd actions, after all. "I feel I owe you an apology--an explanation," said White, still in a low voice. "Will--will you come over here a moment--to this bench? Give me your attention briefly?" "Guess I can," said Ryder. "There seems nothing much pressing on my time just now," he added grimly, and followed White to the gloomier side of the office where the two men seated themselves on one of the leather-covered divans just under the stairway. "You see," said White, still in that stifled tone. "I--I came down here expecting to intercept--that is, to meet--er--friends. I followed her down here---- Ahem! Them, I mean; and I couldn't find----" His voice trailed off into silence, while Ryder watched him in the dusk with reviving interest. There was surely something wrong with this man's brain. If ever John Ryder had seen a man with beclouded mind, John B. White was that man. "And I saw--saw your--er--wife," went on White. "She looked so like--well, like what I thought my friend--one of my friends--would look----" "My wife looks like somebody you know?" Ryder asked in that loud and cheerful tone which the average person uses in addressing one who he thinks is not mentally balanced. "Ye-es. As I thought she'd look. And her name----" "What name?" demanded Ryder. White ignored the question. "You see, I've been away so long," he murmured. "I didn't know just how she would look. We had never exchanged photographs in all that time." Ryder glanced at him curiously. "You come from Rome, the clerk tells me?" "Yes," admitted the man, looking startled again. "I--I only recently arrived in the country." "Recently arrived from an insane asylum, more like," thought John Ryder. "And, then, your wife," reiterated White. "You--you haven't been married to her long?" "I should say not!" groaned Ryder. "Not long enough to get used to being a married man. We were only married yesterday." "Not married _here_?" gasped White. "No. In New York. Just before coming here," replied Ryder, wonderingly. "And I wish heartily we hadn't come here. We're in a nice mess." "Yes--unfortunate," said White. "Your case is indeed unhappy. A bridegroom and bride. Dear, dear!" Ryder still gazed at him wonderingly. "If ever I have seen a man who has slipped his trolley, this White is that man!" he thought. "I--I suppose you and Mrs. Ryder had looked forward to a very different sort of a honeymoon?" said White, bending forward to devour his companion's face in the dusk, his own eyes glowing in the wild way which had already attracted Ryder's notice.