"Shall I?"

"Do. I shan't have so many more evenings of--"

"Freedom--"

"--Of loneliness, confound you! Come in!"

Rokeby followed him into his rooms, on the second floor. A good fire
was burning, but they were just bachelor rooms full of hired--and
cheap--furniture. As Osborn cast off his overcoat and took Rokeby's, he
glanced around expressively.

"You should see the flat. You _will_ see it soon. All Marie's
arrangement, and absolutely charming."

"Thanks awfully. I'll be your first caller."

"Well, don't forget it. What'll you have?"

"Whiskey, please."

"So'll I."

Osborn gave Desmond one of the two armchairs by the fire, and took the
other himself. Another silence fell, during which Rokeby saw Osborn
smiling secretly and involuntarily to himself as he had seen other men
smile. The man was uplifted; his mind soared in heaven, while his body
dwelt in a hired plush chair in the sitting-room of furnished lodgings.