"It is Mr. Mordaunt's own report," Bertrand explained. "It interests me—that. I feel as if I heard him speak."
Max grunted. He had asked no question as to the circumstances that had led to Bertrand's departure, and Bertrand had volunteered no information. It had been a closed subject between them by mutual consent. But to-night for some reason Max approached it, warily, as one not sure of his ground.
"When do you hope to see him again?"
A slight flush rose in Bertrand's face. "Never—it is probable," he said sadly.
"Ah! Then you had a disagreement?"
Bertrand looked at him questioningly.
Max smiled a little. "No, it isn't vulgar curiosity. Fact is, I came across my cousin Jack Forest to-day. You remember Jack Forest? I've been dining with him at his club. We hadn't met for ages, and naturally we had a good deal to say to one another."
He paused, gently relinquishing his hold upon Bertrand's wrist, and got up to pour something out of a bottle on the mantelpiece into a medicine-glass.
"Drink this, old chap," he said, "or I shall tire you out before I've done."
"You have something to say to me?" Bertrand said quickly.