"When did you get back?" asked Chase.
"I landed at Yarmouth this morning. I came up to London this afternoon."
Chase turned up the gas and lit a cigarette.
"You have not been home, then?" he said. "There is news waiting for you there. Your father is dead!"
"I know," Stretton replied. "He died a month ago."
Mr. Chase was perplexed. He drew up a chair to the fire and sat down.
"You know that?" he asked slowly; "and yet you have not gone home?"
"No," replied Stretton. "And I do not mean to go."
Stretton was speaking in the quietest and most natural way. There was no trace in his manner of that anxiety which during the last few days had kept him restless and uneasy. He had come to his decision. Chase was aware of the stubborn persistence of his friend; and it was rather to acquire knowledge than to persuade that he put his questions.
"But why? You went away to make an independent home, free from the restrictions under which you and your wife were living. Well, you have got that home now. The reason for your absence has gone."