“Then you have not forgotten?” said Len, gratefully.
“It is not likely,” he said, quietly. “I have thought of you many a night as I lay burning with that confounded fever. Are you married?” and he looked round the room as if he expected to see Mrs. Dagle in some dim corner.
Leonard blushed.
“Nonsense! No, Jack, I’m not married. But—I’m very happy, old man—should have been quite happy, but for missing you.”
Jack nodded.
“I’m glad of that. Glad it has all worked round, and that you have missed me, too. Where is she—Laura Treherne? You see I remember her name.”
Leonard hesitated, and looked troubled.
“I—I’m afraid I mustn’t tell you. You see, Jack, there’s still some kind of mystery hanging about this love affair of mine. It is Laura’s wish that I should keep silent as to her whereabouts. I give you my word I don’t understand why. But I don’t want to talk of myself and my affairs, Jack. There is something and someone else you want to hear about.”
Jack looked up with a sudden start, and held up his hand.
“No, not a word!” he said. “Don’t tell me a word. I—that affair is over—dead and buried. Don’t speak her name, Len, for Heaven’s sake. Let that rest forever between us.”