It is quite possible that the colonel himself had not been entirely unaware of this latter fact, though he had exhibited no signs of his knowledge, either in his countenance or bearing; indeed, it would be difficult, for one so easily swayed by every passing interest as Richard Amory was, to have long resisted his manly courtesy and good nature. Men always found him an agreeable companion, and he made the most of his powers on the occasions which threw him, or in which he threw himself, in Amory's way. Even Planefield admitted reluctantly, once or twice, that the fellow had plenty in him. It was not long before Richard succumbed to his personal influence with pleasurable indolence. It would have cost him too much effort to combat against it; and, besides this, it was rather agreeable to count among one's friends and supporters a man strong enough to depend on and desirable enough to be proud of. There had been times during the last few months when there would have been a sense of relief in the feeling that there was within reach a stronger nature than his own,--one on whose strength he knew he could rely. As their intimacy appeared to establish itself, if he did not openly confide in Tredennis, he more than once approached the borders of a confidence in his moments of depression. That he had such moments had become plain. He did not even look so bright as he had looked; something of his care-free, joyous air had deserted him, and now and then there were to be seen faint lines on his forehead. "There is a great deal of responsibility to be borne in a matter like this," he said to Tredennis, "and it wears on a man." To which he added, a few seconds later, with a delightfully unconscious mixture of petulance and protest: "Confound it! why can't things as well turn out right as wrong?" "Have things been turning out wrong?" the colonel ventured. Richard put his elbows on the table before him, and rested his forehead on his hands a second. "Well, yes," he admitted; "several things, and just at the wrong time, too. There seems a kind of fate in it,--as if when one thing began the rest must follow." The colonel began to bite one end of his long mustache reflectively as he looked at the young man's knitted brow. "There is one thing you must understand at the outset," he said, at length. "When I can be made useful--supposing such a thing were possible--I am here." Richard glanced up at him quickly. He looked a little haggard for the moment. "What a steady, reliable fellow you are!" he said. "Yes, I should be sure of you if--if the worst came to the worst." The colonel bit the ends of his mustache all the way home, and more than one passer-by on the avenue was aroused to wonder what the subject of his reflections might be, he strode along with so absorbed an air, and frowned so fiercely. "I should like to know what the worst is," he was saying to himself. "I should like to know what that means."