“Charley,” he said, “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know, Wick. You’ve been more than decent—about everything; but, to tell you the truth, I have a hankering for the old life—see? I’m sorry to let you down, when you’ve taken so much trouble to get me a job, but I feel I’ve got to get South again, in the sun.”
“Charley—”
“The doctors don’t always know what they’re talking about, you know. Personally I think it ’ll do me good to get down there in the sun.”
“Charley,” said Wickham, with a monstrous effort, “I—I think you have another reason.”
“Eh?” said Charles, glancing up sharply.
Their eyes met for an instant.
“I wanted to tell you,” said Wickham, still with a painful effort, “that it needn’t matter.”
“But—it does,” murmured Charles.
“I wanted to tell you that—I don’t blame you. You can’t help it. Who could? I’m sure she doesn’t know. I was watching her this evening. I’m sure she doesn’t suspect.”