"My dear fellow, it is simply preposterous! The man must be insane."
"Is he here this evening?" Mainwaring inquired.
"No; to tell the truth, he has not found it so very congenial here since that outbreak of his; he seldom is here now, excepting, of course, at meals. Mr. Whitney is here, however."
"I came here," Harold Mainwaring replied, "with the express purpose of meeting one or the other, or both; on the whole, it will be rather better to meet Mr. Whitney."
"No trouble, no unpleasant words, I hope?" said the elder man, anxiously.
"Mr. Chittenden, when you knew me as Hugh Mainwaring's private secretary, you knew me as a gentleman; I trust I shall never be less."
"You are right, you are right, my boy, and I beg your pardon; but young blood is apt to be hasty, you know."
A little later Harold Mainwaring strolled leisurely across the large reading-room to a table where Mr. Whitney was seated. The latter, seeing him, rose to greet him, while his sensitive face flushed with momentary excitement.
"Mr. Mainwaring, I am delighted to meet you. I had hoped from the friendly tone of that rather mysterious note of yours, upon your somewhat abrupt departure, that we might meet again soon, and, though it is under greatly altered circumstances, I am proud to have the opportunity of congratulating you."
The younger man responded courteously, and for a few moments the two chatted pleasantly upon subjects of general interest, while many pairs of eyes looked on in silent astonishment, wondering what this peculiar interview might portend.