"What do you mean by that?" said Will with subdued resentment.

The rain had ceased; a high wind buffeted them as they went along
the almost deserted street. The necessity of clutching at his hat
might have explained Norbert's silence for a moment; but he strode
on without speaking.

"Of course, if you don't care to talk about it," said Will, stopping
short.

"I've been walking about all day," Franks replied; "and I've got
hell inside me; I'd rather not have met you to-night, that's the
truth. But I can't let you go without asking a plain question. _Did_
it surprise you to see that portrait smashed?"

"Very much. What do you hint at?"

"I had a letter this morning from Rosamund, saying she couldn't
marry me, and that all must be over between us. Does _that_ surprise
you?"

"Yes, it does. Such a possibility had never entered my mind."

Franks checked his step, just where the wind roared at an
unprotected corner.

"I've no choice but to believe you," he said, irritably. "And no
doubt I'm making a fool of myself. That's why I shot out of your way
this afternoon--I wanted to wait till I got calmer. Let's say
good-night."