"Of your life in Australia I know little or nothing. It is more than likely you made a fortune there; you were always a lucky devil, with a handful of trumps in your hand that ensured a winning game. Even now--with me for a partner--the game is not lost. Now let us see what brought you back to England. It was not, perhaps, because you were tired of Australian life and longed for London pleasures, though that motive is sufficiently strong. But there was Barbara to reckon with. What an encumbrance! Too bad altogether. (Your way of thinking, John; it is your point of view.) By a fortunate fatality--your view again, John--the encumbrance is removed. Barbara is dead; the road is cleared for you. The winning game is in your hand. You lose no time; home you come--to marry the other woman. Am I right? Silence gives consent." He threw away the stump of his cigar and lit another. "Now begins the chapter of accidents. On the 30th of November I happened to be in Liverpool; business called me there for just one day, and of all days in the year just that day. In the night my business finished, and not to my satisfaction (all my life I have been robbed right and left, but that's a detail which will not arouse your sympathy), I walked back to my hotel in no very agreeable frame of mind. What a night it was! You remember it, John--you will remember it all your life. It was the most awful snowstorm in my recollection--a record. My way to my hotel lay through Rye Street. The wind cut me in pieces, the snow blinded me; I give you my word I could not get along. I was literally blown back every step I took, actually and literally blown into a house the street door of which was open when I was trying to pass it. I stood in the passage to recover my breath, and then going to the door saw the madness of endeavoring to reach my hotel through such a frightful storm. I did the sensible thing. "'Here is a house,' thought I, 'the street door of which has been accidentally left or blown open; the inmates will surely accord me shelter for the night; if not a bed, at least a seat by the fire."