He sat there for some minutes, his head bowed, his hands clasped together on his knees. All that he had gone through since he first heard in the drawing-room at Great Walpole-street the true story of John Calverley's death; his first feelings of repulsion and aversion to the woman whom he believed to have been the bane of his mother's life; his colloquies with Statham; his first visit to Hendon; his meeting with Pauline, and their plot for keeping Alice in ignorance of the fact that the funeral had taken place: all this passed through Martin Gurwood's mind during his reverie. Passed through his mind also a recollection of the gradual manner in which he softened to the heartbroken, friendless girl, recognising her as the victim instead of the betrayer, and finding in her qualities which were rare amongst those of her sex who stood foremost and fearless in the approbation of the world. Was the day-dream in which he had of late permitted himself to indulge to vanish in this way? Was he to give up the one great hope of gladdening his life, the mere anticipation of which seemed to have changed the current of his being? No; that was his determination. Humphrey Statham was the best, the truest, the dearest fellow in the world; but this was almost a matter of life and death, in which no question of sentimental friendship should have weight. He would tell Humphrey frankly and squarely what were his own feelings for Alice Claxton, and they would go in then, in rancourless rivalry, each to do his best to win her. And as he arrived at this decision the door opened, and Humphrey Statham returned. 'Well!' he cried, running up in his boisterous way with outstretched hands, 'you have been lost in reflection, I suppose--chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy. Not bitter though, I hope; there is no bitterness to you, Martin, in my avowal; nor to any one else, I fancy, for the matter of that, unless it be that precious article, Mr. Wetter.' 'I have been thinking over what you told me, Humphrey; and I was going to--' 'No, no, not yet. I haven't told you half I have to say,' interrupted Statham, pushing his friend back into his chair, and seating himself. 'Of course you're astonished, living the life you do, "celibate as a fly in the heart of an apple," as Jeremy Taylor has it, at any one's falling in love, and at me more than any one else. You think I am not formed for that sort of thing; that I am hard and cold and practical, and that I have been so all my life. You little dream, Martin--for I have never said a word about it, even to you--that some years ago I was so devoted to a woman as to be nearly heartbroken when she abandoned me.' 'Abandoned you!' 'Yes.' He shuddered, and passed his hand across his face. 'I don't like to think about it even now, and should not recur to it if the circumstances had not a connection with Claxton.' 'With Alice!' exclaimed Martin, and bending forward eagerly.