"Why?" he persisted with freedom of a friend. "Was she free?"
"She loved another man," replied Noel. There was not a tremor in his voice but he stood very still and did not meet his friend's questioning eyes. "When I heard of her marriage I felt that my life was of no particular use to me. So," with a shrug of the shoulders, "I tried to get rid of it—and failed. Ridiculous, eh?"
Floriot laid his hand on his friend's arm. The grip of the fingers told his unspoken sympathy.
"Oh, I am used to being a fool!" declared Noel, lightly, but with a sub-current of bitterness in his voice. "I was the fool of the family at home and one of the best jokes they ever had at school. I might have known that the woman I loved would have sense enough to pick out another man. I even made a fool of myself when I tried to take my life!"
"But you were badly hurt?"
"Pretty badly," replied Noel gravely; "but I was soon on my feet again. Then," the shrug again, "having nothing on earth to live for but an occasional laugh—which doesn't cost much—I made a ridiculous amount of money in the Canadian fur business."
"But, why didn't you write to me?" demanded Floriot, reproachfully. Noel turned to him apologetically.
"I wanted to forget and to be forgotten, old man," he said. "The papers reported me dead, and the fact that I didn't die didn't seem to interest them, so I seized the opportunity to stay dead until it suited my pleasure to come to life again."
"Are you married?"
"No!" was the emphatic reply. "I shall never marry!"