Mordaunt watched him in silence—a silence through which in some fashion he conveyed his sympathy; for after a moment Bertrand spoke again, still dexterously occupied with his task.
"Ah! you understand," he said. "I have no need to explain to you that this meeting with my little friend who belonged to the happy days that are past has given me almost as much of pain as of pleasure. I do not try to explain—because you understand."
"You will get over it, my dear fellow," Mordaunt said, with quiet conviction.
"You think it?" Bertrand glanced up momentarily.
"I do," Mordaunt answered, with a very kindly smile. "In fact, I think, with all due respect to you, that you are younger than you feel."
"Ah!" There was not much conviction in Bertrand's response. He stood up and handed the paper to Mordaunt with a quick bow. "But—all the same—you understand?" he questioned, with a touch of anxiety.
"Of course I understand," Mordaunt answered gently.
CHAPTER XII
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
"At last!" said Chris.