He spoke low under his breath, and the girl looked at him curiously. “What’s the matter, dear?” she cried. “Has something happened?” Jimmy Lethbridge pulled himself together; he didn’t want her to suspect anything yet. “Good heavens, no!” he laughed. “What should have? But I want to borrow something from you, Molly dear, and I don’t want you to ask any questions. I want you to lend me that photograph of Peter that you’ve got—the one in full dress.” And now she was staring at him wonderingly. “Jimmy,” she said breathlessly, “does it concern the present?” “Yes; it concerns the present.” “You’re going to have a picture of him painted for me?” “Something like that,” he answered quietly. “Oh, you dear!” she whispered, “you dear! I’ve been thinking about it for months. I’ll get it for you.” She went upstairs, and the man stood still in the hall staring after her. And he was still standing motionless as she came down again, the precious frame clasped in her hands. “You’ll take care of it, Jimmy?” she said, and he nodded. Then for a moment she laid her hand on his arm. “I don’t think, old man,” she said quietly, “that you’ll have to wait very long with friendship only.” The next moment she was alone with the slam of the front-door echoing in her ears. It was like Fate to reserve its most deadly arrow for the end. III “You say he has completely lost his memory?” Mainwaring, one of the most brilliant of London’s younger surgeons, leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at his host. “Well, he didn’t know me, and I was his greatest friend,” said Lethbridge. The two men were in Jimmy’s rooms, waiting for the arrival of Peter and the girl. “He looked at me without a trace of recognition,” continued Lethbridge. “And he’s developed a typical lower-class Cockney accent.” “Interesting, very,” murmured the surgeon, getting up and examining the photograph on the table. “This is new, isn’t it, old boy; I’ve never seen it before?” “I borrowed it this afternoon,” said Jimmy briefly. “From his people, I suppose? Do they know?” “No one knows at present, Mainwaring—except you and me. That photograph I got this afternoon from Miss Daventry.” Something in his tone made the surgeon swing round. “You mean your fiancée?” he said slowly. “Yes—my fiancée. You see, she was—she was engaged to Peter. And she thinks he’s dead. That is the only reason she got engaged to me.” For a moment there was silence, while Mainwaring stared at the other. A look of wonder had come into the doctor’s eyes—wonder mixed with a dawning admiration. “But, my God! old man,” he muttered at length, “if the operation is successful——” “Can you think of a better wedding present to give a girl than the man she loves?” said Jimmy slowly, and the doctor turned away. There are times when it is not good to look on another man’s face. “And if it isn’t successful?” he said quietly. “God knows, Bill. I haven’t got as far as that—yet.”