He had always been aware that he was an important person, and it seemed impossible that she should not see it too. Ralph Wradisley and his friend Bertram went out for a long walk. They were both “out of it,” the son as much as the visitor, and both moved with similar inclinations to run away. “Of course I’ll meet some fellows I know,” Ralph said. “Shall I though? The fellows of my age are knocking about somewhere, or married and settled, and that sort of thing. I’ll meet the women of them, sisters, and so forth, and perhaps some wives. It’s only the women that are fixtures in a country like this; and what are the women to you and me?” “Well, to me nothing but strangers--but so would the men be too.” “Ah, it’s all very well to talk,” said Ralph. “Women have their place in society, and so forth--wouldn’t be so comfortable without them, I suppose. But between you and me, Bertram, there ain’t very much in women for fellows like us. I’m not a marrying man--neither are you, I suppose? The most of them about here are even past the pretty girl stage, don’t you know, and I don’t know how to talk to them. Africa plays the deuce with you for that.” “No,” said Bertram, “I am not a marrying man. I am--I feel I ought to tell you, Wradisley--there never was any need to go into such questions before, and you may believe I don’t want to carry a placard round my neck in the circumstances;--well--I am a married man, and that is the truth.” Ralph turned upon him with a long whistle and a lifting of the eyebrows. “By Jove!” he said. “I hope you won’t bear me a grudge for not telling you before. In that case I’ll be off at once and bother you no more.” “Stuff!” cried Ralph; “what difference can it make to me? I have thought you had something on your mind sometimes; but married or single, we’re the same two fellows that have walked the desert together, and helped each other through many a scrape. I’m sorry for you, old chap--that is, if there’s anything to be sorry for. Of course, I don’t know.” “I’ve been afloat on the world ever since,” said Bertram. “It was all my fault. I was a cursed fool, and trapped when I was a boy. Then I thought the woman was dead--had all the proofs and everything, and--You say you know nothing about that sort of thing, Wradisley. Well, I won’t say anything about it. I fell in love with a lady every way better than I--she was--perhaps you do know more than you say. I married her--that’s the short and the long of it; and in a year, when the baby had come, the other woman, the horrible creature, arrived at my very door.” “Good Lord!” cried Ralph softly, in his beard. “She was dying, that was one good thing; she died--in my house. And then--We were married again, my wife and I--she allowed that; but--I have never seen her since,” said Bertram, turning his head away. “By Jove!” said Ralph Wradisley once more, in his beard; and they walked on in silence for a mile, and said not another word. At last--