Clifford was in danger of being silenced. That would never do.

"Papa Braith," he smiled, "is it that you too have been through the
mill? Shall I present your compliments to the miller? I'm going. Come,
Elliott."

Elliott took up his hat and followed.

"Braith," he said, "we'll drink your health as we go through the
mill."

"Remember that the mill grinds slowly but surely," said Braith.

"He speaks in parables," laughed Clifford, halfway downstairs, and
the two took up the catch they had improvised, singing, "Lisette --
Cosette -- Ninette -- " in thirds more or less out of tune, until
Gethryn shut the door on the last echoes that came up from the hall
below.

Gethryn came back and sat down, and Braith took a seat beside him, but
neither spoke. Braith had his pipe and Rex his cigarette.

When the former was ready, he began to speak. He could not conceal the
effort it cost him, but that wore away after he had been talking a
while.

"Rex," he began, "when I say that we are friends, I mean, for my
own part, that you are more to me than any man alive; and now I am
going to tell you my story. Don't interrupt me. I have only just