during his wanderings, Venner had written to his old chum a fairly
complete account of his adventures. During the last three years the
letters had been meagre and far between; and at their meeting a few days
ago, Gurdon had noticed a reticence in the manner of his old chum that he
had not seen before.

He waited now, naturally enough, for the other to give some explanation
of his extraordinary statement, but Venner appeared to have forgotten all
about Gurdon. He sat there shielding one side of his face, heedless of
the attentions of the waiter, who proffered him food from time to time.

"Is that all you are going to tell me?" Gurdon asked at length.

"Upon my word, I am very sorry," Venner said. "But you will excuse me
if I say nothing more at present. You can imagine what a shock this has
been to me."

"Of course. I don't wish to be impertinent, old chap, but I presume that
there has been some little misunderstanding--"

"Not in the least. There has been no misunderstanding whatever. I
honestly believe that the woman over yonder is still just as passionately
fond of me as I am of her. As you know, Gurdon, I never was much of a
ladies' man; in fact, you fellows at Oxford used to chaff me because I
was so ill at ease in the society of women. Usually a man like myself
falls in love but once in his lifetime, and then never changes. At any
rate, that is my case. I worship the ground that girl walks upon. I would
have given up my life cheerfully for her; I would do so now if I could
save her a moment's pain. You think, perhaps, that she saw me when she
came in here to-night. That is where you have got the impression that