“You see!” said Vincey, and chuckled. “My intentions were good—meant to make a neat exit.”
“No need for you to do that, sir.”
There was something in his tone which Captain Vincey had not heard for a very long time.
“My boy,” he said, “see here—I’m not asking for sympathy.”
“Suppose we take that for granted, too, sir?” said Napier.
He might have been a young officer speaking to his senior; or, thought the older man, he might have been a son speaking to his father. Vincey leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and set his teeth hard.
“My boy!” he said. “My boy!”
“Here we are, sir,” said Napier, as the carriage stopped. “Wait,” he told the driver, and helped Vincey out.
Mrs. Vincey was standing in the lighted doorway.
“James!” she cried. “What has happened?”