“Of course; who else?”
“Yes, I have. But, Jeremy—”
“Well!”
“I don’t want you to say anything about it to anybody at present.”
“Very good.”
“I say, old fellow,” Ernest went on, after a pause, “I hope you don’t mind very much.”
“If I said I did not mind, Ernest,” he answered, slowly turning his honest eyes full on to his friend’s face, “I should be telling a lie. But I do say this: as I could not win her myself, I am glad that you have, because next to her I think I love you better than anybody in the world. You always had the luck, and I wish you joy. There’s the train.”
Ernest wrung his hand.
“Thank you, old chap,” he said; “you are a downright good fellow, and a good friend too. I know I have had the luck, but perhaps it is going to turn. Good-bye.”
Ernest’s plans were to sleep in London, and to leave on the following morning, a Wednesday, for Guernsey. There he was to meet his friend on Thursday, when they were to start upon their tour, first to Normandy, and thence wherever their fancy led them.