"Why, Henry!" His friend gave a cry of surprise. And then to cover it he said: "You are just in time for breakfast. Another knife and fork, Portman. Take off your overcoat."
The young man had no wish to do so. He remembered that his evening clothes were under it. Nor had he any desire for breakfast.
As soon as the servant had retired, Edward Ambrose compelled him firmly but kindly to eat.
Ambrose had noted already that the Sailor was in a decidedly overwrought state. The ashen face, the wild eyes, the disheveled appearance was not pleasant to see.
"Tell me what has happened."
"Before I do that," said the young man, in a voice unlike his own, "I want you to consider this a secret between us."
"Yes ... of course."
"To begin at the beginning of a rotten story." There was a queer break in the voice. "You didn't know that I was married, did you?"
"No," said Ambrose, impassively.
"I dare say I ought to have told you. Several times I made up my mind that I would. I am very sorry now I didn't."