There was an end of talking; we were all in deadly earnest. We grasped hands, arranged a system of communication, and then I and Arthur went down the stone steps, across the parade ground, and said good-by at Hyde Park corner. "You--?" he said. "You will see in the papers that Sir Thomas Kirby is gone for a voyage round the world." "And as a matter of fact?" "I think I won't give you any details, old man. My plan is a very odd one indeed. You wouldn't quite understand, and you'd think it extraordinary--as indeed it is." "It can't be more fantastic than the whole bitter business," he said, and his voice was full of pain. I saw, for the first time, that he had grown older in the last few months. The boyishness in him which had been one of his charms, was passing away definitely and forever. He was hard hit, as we all were, and I reproached myself for my egotism. After all, if there was any hope at all, I was the most fortunate. Arthur and staunch old Pat Moore were giving up their time, their energies, to bring about a conclusion from which I alone should benefit. We were crossing the Green Park as this was borne in upon me. It was a dull, gray afternoon, rapidly deadening into evening. There seemed no color anywhere. But when I thought of the faithful, uncomplaining, even joyous adherence to our oath, when I understood for the first time how these two friends of mine were laboring without hope of reward, then I saw, as in a vision, the wonder and sacredness of unselfish love. "Arthur," I said, as we were about to part at Hyde Park corner, "God forgive me, but I believe your love for her is greater than mine." "Don't say that, Tom. When we threw the dice, if the Queen had come to me you would be doing what I am doing now, or what Pat is ready to do." Well, of course, that was true, but when we gripped hands and turned our backs upon each other, I walked slowly towards my flat with a hanging head. For one brief moment I had caught a glimpse of that love which Dante speaks of--that love "which moves earth and all the stars"--and in the presence of so high a thing I was bowed and humbled. Let me also be worthy of such company, was my prayer. * * * * * At ten o'clock the next morning I stood in my bedroom with Preston in attendance. Preston's face, usually a well-bred mask which showed nothing of his feelings, was gravely distressed. "Shall I do, Preston?" I asked. "Yes, Sir Thomas, you'll _do_," he said regretfully, "but I must say, Sir Thomas, that--" "Shut up, Preston, you've said quite enough. Am I the real thing or not?" "Certainly not, Sir Thomas," he said with spirit. "How could you be the real thing? But I'm bound to say you _look_ it." "You mean that your experience of a small but prosperous suburban public-house, visited principally by small tradespeople, leads you to suppose that I might pass very well for the landlord of such a place?"