"You've heard all about it I see! But the hut on the hill is a
'dependence' of the Plaza--a sort of annex where dying men are put
away to die peaceably--"

"YOU are not a dying man!" said Gwent, very meaningly--"And I can't
make out why you pretend to be one!"

Again Seaton laughed.

"I'm not pretending!--my dear Gwent, we're all dying men! One may
die a little faster than another, but it's all the same sort of
'rot, and rot, and thereby hangs a tale!' What's the news in
Washington?"

They walked up the hill slowly, side by side.

"Not startling"--answered Gwent--then paused--and repeated--"Not
startling--there's nothing startling nowadays--though some folks
made a very good show of being startled when my nephew Jack shot
himself."

Seaton stopped in his walk.

"Shot himself? That lad? Was he insane?"

"Of course!--according to the coroner. Everybody is called 'insane'
who gets out of the world when it's too difficult to live in. Some
people would call it sane. I call it just--cowardice! Jack had lost
his last chance, you see. Morgana Royal threw him over."