“I felt sure it must have happened like that,” he said. “Besides, as you know, Kitty and I had quarrelled and had broken our engagement off. Of course, I hoped that some day we might come together again--at least, I know now that I hoped it. But that was nothing to do with you. You fell in love with her, and she with you. Yes, yes. Really, I don’t wonder. Indeed--indeed, I do congratulate you--I congratulate you both.” Oldham gave a great sigh of pleasure and relief. “It’s ripping of you to take it like that,” he said. “I hardly dared to hope you would. Thanks ever so much--ever so much! And now, do you know, I think I shall go to bed. I am dog-tired. I had a six hours’ ride to the station this morning, and even up there it was hideously hot.” Case again reminded himself that he must behave naturally--not plan anything, but not interfere. “Oh, you must have a drink,” he said, “though I’m afraid there is no ice. I’ll get you a glass and soda.” He came out into the veranda again with these requisites. Oldham was stifling a prodigious yawn. “I’m half dead with sleep. Probably I shall chuck myself on my bed just as I am, to save the trouble of undressing.” Case felt his hand tremble as he put the glass down on the table. “I know that feeling,” he said. “Sometimes, when one is very sleepy, the sight of a bed is altogether too much for one. I dare say I shall do the same. Help yourself to whisky while I open the soda for you.” Oldham drank his peg and again rose. “Well, I’m for bed,” he said. “And I can’t tell you what a relief it is to me to find you like this. By the way, about that bit of money. Pay me exactly when it’s convenient to you--next year or the year after, if you like. I should be wretched if I thought you were putting yourself about over it. So good night, Reggie.”