"Of course. That's why I have come now."
Beside the window a dark curtain blew forward a little, bulged as though some one were behind it, thinned again in the pale dim shadows of a moon that, beyond the window, fought with driving clouds. That curtain would—how many ages ago!—have tightened young John's heart with terror, and the contrast made by his present slim indifference drew him, in some warm, confiding fashion, closer to his visitor.
"Anyway, I'm jolly glad you've come now. I haven't really forgotten you, ever. Only in the day-time——"
"Oh, yes, you have," his Friend said, smiling. "It's natural enough and right that you should. But if only you will believe always that I once was here, if only you'll not be persuaded into thinking me impossible, silly, absurd, sentimental—with ever so many other things—that's all I've come now to ask you."
"Why, how should I ever?" John demanded indignantly.
"After all, I was a help—for a long time when things were difficult and you had so much to learn—all that time you wanted me, and I was here."
"Of course," said John politely, but feeling within him that warning of approaching sentiment that he had learnt by now so fundamentally to dread.
Very well his friend understood his apprehension.
"That's all. I've only come to you now to ask you to make me a promise—a very easy one."
"Yes?" said John.