“No,” he replied, promptly. “I see him when I go to the club; not very often elsewhere. I know his sister, Elsie Coningsby, better. Not that I know her very well. She happens to be a great friend of—of a—of a great friend—or, rather, some one who was a great friend—of mine. That’s all.”
So that was it!
I said, after we had spun along some few miles more, “Your name is Stephen, isn’t it?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
I hedged. “Oh, I must have heard some one call you that.”
“That’s funny. Hardly any one does. They mostly say Cantyre—or just doctor.” He added, after a minute or two, “You call me Stephen, and I’ll call you Frank.”
Once more the swift march of happenings gave me a slight shock.
“Oh, but we hardly know each other.”
“That would be true if there weren’t friendships that outdistance acquaintanceships.”
“Oh, if you look at it that way—”