That is men's way—even the best of them.
CHAPTER XX
A HORRIBLE REVELATION
The man she had inquired for in the bar, Rigby—he guessed it was he—was speaking. A husky-toned voice, but the listener could plainly catch the words:
"There! Don't cry, old girl. I have broken my promise to you, I know. You thought I had gone out of England, and I haven't. Well, I am going—going early to-morrow."
"Dick!"
"Gospel truth, old girl. When I said good-bye last time, I meant it. But I got in with the boys and it was the old story. You know; I needn't tell you. I don't blame the boys; they think it a lark, that's all. First one comes and then the other, and each one doesn't know how far I've gone already. I have myself to blame; no one else. I have been lying here over a fortnight with the D.T.'s—came out of them two days ago. Doctor says I shall be able to go abroad to-morrow. He's a good sort; says the Mediterranean cruise will be the thing to set me on my legs. You said so; he says so. He has been kind enough to see to things, booked my berth, and I am going to-morrow from St. Katharine's dock on La Mascotte.
"Dick!"