“I was much disappointed, for Wilmot and I were great pals, and the prospect of staying here alone with the old lady struck me as perfectly appalling. I resolved to make the best of it, however, for I was genuinely sorry for my aunt, whom I could see was quite as disappointed as I was. I arrived late in the afternoon of December 31st. We dined at seven, and at nine my aunt went off to bed and left me in this room by myself.
“For some time I read—no, not one of your books, O’Donnell—a Guy Maupassant; but the light being rather bad, and my eyes tired, for I had been travelling all the previous night, I was at last obliged to desist and devote myself entirely to a pipe.
“The servants went to bed at about ten. I heard them tap respectfully at my aunt’s door on their way, and wish her good-night. After that the house was absolutely silent, so silent, indeed, that the hush began to get on my nerves, and I was contemplating retiring also, when heavy footsteps suddenly crossed the hall and the door of this room was flung wide open. I looked round in amazement. Standing on the threshold was Wilmot.
“‘Why, Jack!’ I cried. ‘I am glad to see you, old fellow. Your aunt told me you could not come. How did you manage it?’
“‘Quite easily,’ he said in the light, careless manner which was one of his characteristics. ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way, you know. I’ve taken French leave.’
“‘Taken French leave!’ I ejaculated. ‘Then there’ll be the deuce to pay when you get back. Anyhow, that’s your affair, not mine. You’ll have some supper?’
“‘No,’ he said; ‘I had a very good meal a short time ago, and I’m not the least bit hungry. We will chat instead.’
“He pulled his chair up to the table, and, leaning his elbows on it, stared right into my face.
“‘You don’t look very well, Jack,’ I said. ‘Maybe this strong light has something to do with it, but you are as pale as a sheet. Is it the voyage?’
“‘Not altogether,’ he replied. ‘I’ve had a lot of trouble lately.’