Geoffrey's face became serious again. His secret was in Arnold's hands;
and his estimate of Arnold's character was founded, unconsciously,
on his experience of himself. "All right," he said, by way of timely
apology and concession. "I was only joking."

"As much joking as you please, when you have married her," replied
Arnold. "It seems serious enough, to my mind, till then." He
stopped--considered--and laid his hand very earnestly on Geoffrey's arm.
"Mind!" he resumed. "You are not to breathe a word to any living soul,
of my having been near the inn!"

"I've promised to hold my tongue, once already. What do you want more?"

"I am anxious, Geoffrey. I was at Craig Fernie, remember, when Blanche
came there! She has been telling me all that happened, poor darling, in
the firm persuasion that I was miles off at the time. I swear I couldn't
look her in the face! What would she think of me, if she knew the truth?
Pray be careful! pray be careful!"

Geoffrey's patience began to fail him.

"We had all this out," he said, "on the way here from the station.
What's the good of going over the ground again?"

"You're quite right," said Arnold, good-humoredly. "The fact is--I'm out
of sorts, this morning. My mind misgives me--I don't know why."

"Mind?" repeated Geoffrey, in high contempt. "It's flesh--that's what's
the matter with _you._ You're nigh on a stone over your right weight.
Mind he hanged! A man in healthy training don't know that he has got