“Of course it does!” exclaimed Stephen, tilting down his chair. He walked across the room to Radlett’s seat and stood behind him. “See here, Baird. I did not want to speak of this thing because I was afraid of breaking down and making an ass of myself generally. You don’t know what it is to be placed as I am. When you asked a girl to marry you, you had something to offer her, whether she had the sense to take it or not. You offered her a clean life, a fortune honorably made, an untarnished name, while I,—why even if there were the remotest chance that Miss Cameron would look at me, I should be a brute to ask her. The more I cared for her, the less I could do it. So you see, for me it must be ‘the desire of the moth for the star.’ A man must abide by the consequences of his acts; he must take his medicine, and if mine is bitter, it may do me all the more good only—only I cannot talk about it. Good night!” Radlett did not answer; but long after Stephen was asleep, or pretended to be, Baird lay staring at the rafters. “To lay down his life for his friend,” he said to himself. “That would not be the hardest thing. To lay down his love! I wonder if I am man enough to do it.” CHAPTER XVIII During the week which the Camerons spent in camp at Kay, it was amusing to notice the change in the appearance of the men at the mess. Dilapidated flannel shirts and khaki trousers the worse for wear had been supplanted at supper time by self-conscious black suits and very white ties. The camp barber made enough money to tide him over many months. Mr. Cameron had spent a very busy week, examining with Loring all the details of the work, and daily his respect had grown for the man whom he had so despised. The evening before the last which she was to spend in Kay, Jean announced her intention of visiting the “workings” with her father when he should go the next day. Loring said that it was not safe; her father protested; Radlett argued with her, and as the net result of all she appeared the following morning with her determination unchanged. The porch of the mess a few minutes before breakfast time was always crowded. Men on their way back from the night shift made a practise of stopping to exchange a few words. It was a quieter gathering than in the evening, for ahead lay the prospect of a long day’s work. Yet an air of comfort always prevailed. The five minutes before breakfast made a precious interval in which to loaf, a delightful time when one could stretch himself against the wall and bask in the sunlight.