"I hear you had an audience in the Park to-day," he said, laughing. "Her Majesty distinguished you?"
"I did a most curious thing," said Bowdon slowly. "I had an appointment to drive with her. I didn't go. Half-an-hour later I walked up to the Park and looked for her till I found her. Doesn't that strike you as a very silly proceeding?"
"Very," said Ashley with a laugh.
"In a man of forty-three?" pursued Bowdon with a whimsical gravity.
"Worse and worse. But where do you put the folly, in missing the appointment or—?"
"Oh, in the combination! The combination makes it hopeless. You said you knew her, didn't you?"
"Yes. I shouldn't miss the appointment."
Ashley had long been aware of his companion's kindness for him, one of those partialities that arise without much apparent reason but are of unquestionable genuineness. But Bowdon was considered reserved, and this little outbreak of self-exposure was a surprise. It shewed that the man was at least playing with a new emotion; if the emotion grew strong the play might turn to earnest. Moreover Bowdon must know that his confidant was a frequent visitor at Lady Kilnorton's. Bowdon stopped suddenly, standing still on the pavement, and looking full in Ashley's face.
"Don't think I'm going to make a fool of myself, my boy," he said with remarkable emphasis and energy. "Good-night;" and, hailing a cab, he was off in an instant.