[Chapter XVIII]
In which there is Discovered a Compunction
The iron-gray horse—the former property of one "Miss Meely," an existence in rumor, suspected of being quick-tempered—turned into an alley that led past the windows of the restaurant with the gilt sign to a livery stable.
The restaurant was full of the bustle of hurrying waiters and the hum of conversation. Mavering sat half-way down the line of tables, the remains of his meal before him. He was leaning back, looking peacefully at the ceiling, when Gard came, sat down at the other side of the table, and held out his hand. Mavering took his eyes from the ceiling and said, mildly. "Angel and ministers of grace! I prepared an obituary for you a month ago." He drew a thin, bony hand from his pocket and stretched it across the table. Gard gave his order to the waiter before he commented.
"Why did you do that?"
"Ah! Why? If I remember the circumstances correctly they were these."
Gard listened silently while Mavering told the story with niceties of detail. Finally he said:
"I don't see what Map did that for."
"Don't you? Then neither do I, but in the highway of interpretation I should say he doesn't like you to be alive—possibly has a grudge."