was outrageous. This was hardly to be believed. Sheer kindness had
impelled me to write to "A. V. Laider, Esq.," and this was the result! I
hadn't minded receiving no answer. Only now, indeed, did I remember
that I hadn't received one. In multitudinous London the memory of A. V.
Laider and his trouble had soon passed from my mind. But--well, what a
lesson not to go out of one's way to write to casual acquaintances!

My envelop seemed not to recognize me as its writer. Its gaze was
the more piteous for being blank. Even so had I once been gazed at by a
dog that I had lost and, after many days, found in the Battersea Home.
"I don't know who you are, but, whoever you are, claim me, take me out
of this!" That was my dog's appeal. This was the appeal of my envelop.

I raised my hand to the letter-board, meaning to effect a swift and
lawless rescue, but paused at sound of a footstep behind me. The old
waiter had come to tell me that my luncheon was ready. I followed him
out of the hall, not, however, without a bright glance across my shoulder
to reassure the little captive that I should come back.

I had the sharp appetite of the convalescent, and this the sea air had
whetted already to a finer edge. In touch with a dozen oysters, and with
stout, I soon shed away the unreasoning anger I had felt against A. V.
Laider. I became merely sorry for him that he had not received a letter
which might perhaps have comforted him. In touch with cutlets, I felt
how sorely he had needed comfort. And anon, by the big bright fireside
of that small dark smoking-room where, a year ago, on the last evening
of my stay here, he and I had at length spoken to each other, I reviewed
in detail the tragic experience he had told me; and I simply reveled in
reminiscent sympathy with him.