III
Madeline had gone upstairs, and the two men were alone together in the library. Charles sat beside a lamp, with its light full upon him, but Wickham had moved into a shadowy corner.
Some neighbors had come in to play bridge, there had been more dancing and a little supper; and through it all, all the time, Wickham had been thinking of that look on his brother’s face—a look of terrible pain and regret and tenderness. He was never going to forget it.
“I can’t—just go on,” he thought. “It’s not possible. It’s—oh, God! It’s my fault—I’ve thrown them together, and she’s so lovely and sweet that I might have known. Oh, poor devil! That’s why he wants to go away!”
“Well, Wick,” said Charles, with a sigh. “Now for that talk, eh?”
It was hard for Wickham Hackett to begin.
“Charley,” he said, “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know, Wick. You’ve been more than decent—about everything; but, to tell you the truth, I have a hankering for the old life—see? I’m sorry to let you down, when you’ve taken so much trouble to get me a job, but I feel I’ve got to get South again, in the sun.”
“Charley—”
“The doctors don’t always know what they’re talking about, you know. Personally I think it ’ll do me good to get down there in the sun.”
“Charley,” said Wickham, with a monstrous effort, “I—I think you have another reason.”
“Eh?” said Charles, glancing up sharply.
Their eyes met for an instant.
“I wanted to tell you,” said Wickham, still with a painful effort, “that it needn’t matter.”
“But—it does,” murmured Charles.
“I wanted to tell you that—I don’t blame you. You can’t help it. Who could? I’m sure she doesn’t know. I was watching her this evening. I’m sure she doesn’t suspect.”
“No,” said Charles. “She doesn’t know.”
“She needn’t ever. You can put up at[Pg 550] a hotel, Charley, and just come out for a visit now and then.”
“No, old man,” said Charles quietly. “Wouldn’t do.”
“Yes, it would. See here, Charley—that’s a remarkable opportunity with Carrick. You’ll—”
“I know,” said Charles; “but I think I’ll go down to Nicaragua, Wick.”
“Charley, don’t do it! She doesn’t know; and as for me—I want you here. It’s suicide to go down there. Stay here, Charley!”
“Can’t, Wick,” said Charles. Then he glanced up, with his flashing smile. “I’m off to-morrow, Wick. It’s the best thing. I’m going to make my fortune down there—see?”
“Charley, this is foolish melodrama stuff! You’re not a boy. It can’t be as bad as that.”
“It is, Wick—as bad as that.”
Wickham was silent for a long time.
“Charley—” he said, and held out his hand.
“Wick, old man!” said Charles, taking it in his.