"Ah!" said Cheveril sympathetically. "It's pretty beastly when you come to turn out. I've done it, and I know."
"It's infernal," said the other gloomily, and relapsed into silence.
"Going abroad?" Cheveril ventured presently.
"Yes. Going to the other side of the world." Surliness had given place to depression in the boy's voice. Sympathy, albeit from an unknown quarter, moved him to confidence. "But it isn't that I mind," he said, a moment later. "I should be ready enough to clear out if it weren't for—some one else!"
"A woman, I suppose?" Cheveril said.
He was aware that his companion glanced at him sharply through the gloom, and knew that he was momentarily suspected of eavesdropping.
Then, with impulsive candour, the answer came:
"Yes; the girl I'm engaged to. She has got to stay behind and marry—some one else."
Cheveril's teeth closed silently upon his lower lip. This, also, was one of the things he knew.
"You can't trust her, then?" he said, after a pause.