“Take it altogether this is a strange night’s adventure,” observed Bourne. “Most remarkable. It pleases me, and for this reason: I am fond of searching into the character of man, and I feel convinced your history must be strange one.”
“I’ve seen something of life. Have had my ups and downs, more of the latter than the former, and as I feel just now—or rather as I did when we first met—I don’t think there is much worth living for in this world—not as far as I am concerned at any rate.”
“You mustn’t give way to despondency and look at the dark side of the picture. Brighter days may be in store for you—who knows?”
The gipsy shook his head.
“I doubt it,” he observed, sententiously.
There was a pause, after which the doctor said, carelessly—
“And so you have been married, have lost your wife, and don’t know where she is?”
“Haven’t the slightest notion, and don’t care to inquire. Ah, she left me of her own accord. It must be—well, let’s see—ah, it must be getting on for twenty years ago.”
“Dear me, how very remarkable! Did she”—then pausing suddenly, as if to check himself, the doctor added, “But then I don’t know that I have any right to inquire into your private affairs, which, after all, cannot be of any great interest to me.”
“Oh! I don’t mind telling you the whole history if you think it worth listening to. You see, in my early youth I was a very different sort of chap to what I am now—I was what you might call a smart young fellow, who got on pretty well with the girls.”