"You're devilish gloomy, Perry."
"I fear I am."
"All stomach, ye know, dear fellow. I've noticed this poor old world is generally blamed most damnably, purely because of the night of the morning after—more especially upon an empty—"
"Don't say it again, Anthony, for heaven's sake!"
"But you're curst gloomy and devilish doleful—"
"Anthony, dear man, while you were snoring blissfully this morning I watched a poor, beautiful young creature dragged out of the river."
"Dead, Perry?"
"Yes. She was probably drowning herself last night while we drank and rioted—poor despairing child!" and here I described the dreadful incident very fully. "You have never met or heard of any one named Haredale, have you, Anthony?" I ended.
"No," he answered, "no! Gad, Perry," he burst out with a vicious twirl of his cane, "there are times when killing is a laudable act!" After this we walked in silence for some time.
"Where are we going?" he questioned suddenly.