"You mean that he—"
"Shot himself."
"Present man any improvement?"
"Oppressions are a degree more carefully veiled."
Denham lifted his face from his hands with a sudden movement. "What am I thinking about? You must be in want of food."
"No; it's all right. I went to a cafe on arrival. Your next meal is soon enough for me."
The absence of any inquiry after Polly was arousing Jack's wonder. At first, in the engrossing interest of that other subject, he had not so much noticed Denham's silence, but now each minute it grew more marked. Should he speak of Polly himself? No, that would not do. The first mention ought to be from Ivor. So Jack decided, not realising that his own silence might be misconstrued. Some questions as to his wounds followed. Denham had moved to the large arm-chair, and was leaning back with a spiritless look. Jack wondered anew, and at length he could not resist putting forth a slight feeler.
"Are there no folks at home of whom you would fain hear?"
Ivor took the hint, looked straight at him, and said—"Is Polly married yet?"
Jack's breath was taken away. He was like one who has received a slap in the face. This—from Ivor!