"Good morning, Ned," said Morton to his friend Meredith. He had come to Boston the day before, and had already seen Meredith more than once.
"Going already? Sit down, man. Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I shall look in again before night."
"You are not well. I never thought you could look so worn and haggard."
"Try the prison of Ehrenberg for four or five years, and see how you will look when you get out. It's nothing, though. A little rest will make all right again."
"You are not very likely to get it. You are a lion now, and people will not leave you alone."
"They shall. I am not in the humor for balls and dinner parties."
He went to the house of Mrs. Ashland, whom he had accompanied homeward from New York.
"Have you the letter for me?"
The letter was that which had come from Europe with the story of his death. On hearing Mrs. Ashland's account, he had at once conjectured that this was but another stroke of Vinal's diplomacy; but he had been careful not to intimate to his friend the least suspicion against the latter.