‘The friend came to me at Paris instead the very day after you left.’ ‘But I thought you had arranged with him to go on an expedition to some unpronounceable place in Africa?’ ‘So I had, but he proved disappointing. Hummed and hawed, said he couldn’t go just now, but perhaps a little later on. One saw through him at once. I told him I never travelled about with fellows’ wives, and that settled it.’ ‘He was going to be married?’ ‘Of course. Love was writ large all over him—in huge capitals. And he was in such a hurry over everything. People in love are always in a hurry—to get back. So I dismissed him with my blessing, and a bauble for the venturesome young woman he has chosen to explore life’s boundless ways with him. R.I.P. He’s done for; and a right good fellow he was, too! Well, what’s up with you?’ ‘With me?’ ‘Think I can’t see? You’re out of your luck in some way.’ ‘Nothing much, any way,’ says Wyndham, with an involuntary smile. ‘Too vague—too vague by half,’ says Crosby, laughing. It is the happiest, heartiest laugh. ‘Come, what’s the matter? Out with it. Money?’ ‘No, no,’ says the barrister, laughing in turn. ‘Still, there is something.’ ‘Is there? I don’t know,’ says Wyndham, in a tone half comical, half forlorn. At this Crosby thrusts his arm into his, and wheels him down the street. ‘It must be hunger,’ says he gaily, seeing the other is not ready for confession yet. That the confession will come he knows perfectly well. Ever since they were boys together, Wyndham, whose brain was then, as now, very superior to Crosby’s, had still always given in to the personal attractions of the stronger and older boy, whose big fists often fought Wyndham’s battles for him on the public playground. Crosby had been a big boy then; he is a big man now, and, in spite of his adventurous wanderings by land and sea, looks younger than Wyndham, though he is actually four years older. A splendid man, bronzed, bearded, and broad-shouldered, with the grand look of one who has been through many a peril and many a fight, who has led a cleanly life, and can look the world in the face fearlessly. His eyes are large and blue, and full of life and gaiety. He has a heart as true as gold, and a strong right arm, good for the felling of a foe or the saving of a friend. ‘For my own part, I’m starving,’ says he. ‘Come along; we’re near our club, and you’ll dine with me. Considering what a stranger I am in my own land, you’ll be able to help me out a bit. I feel as if I did not know anyone—that is, if you are not going anywhere else. There’s a wandering look about you. No? No other engagements? That’s good.’ They have reached the steps of the Kildare Street Club by this time, and presently are in the pleasant dining-room.