“Dear old boy,” he said. He was watching her with a little smile. “I’m glad he’s got some luck at last.”
They dined in the great restaurant belonging to the hotel. He was still vastly pleased with himself as he marched up the crowded room with Joan upon his arm. He held himself upright and talked and laughed perhaps louder than an elderly gentleman should. “Swaggering old beggar,” he must have overheard a young sub. mutter as they passed. But he did not seem to mind it.
They lingered over the meal. Folk was a brilliant talker. Most of the men whose names were filling the newspapers had sat to him at one time or another. He made them seem quite human. Joan was surprised at the time.
“Come up to my rooms, will you?” he asked. “There’s something I want to say to you. And then I’ll walk back with you.” She was staying at a small hotel off Jermyn Street.
He sat her down by the fire and went into the next room. He had a letter in his hand when he returned. Joan noticed that the envelope was written upon across the corner, but she was not near enough to distinguish the handwriting. He placed it on the mantelpiece and sat down opposite her.
“So you have come to love the dear old chap,” he said.
“I have always loved him,” Joan answered. “It was he didn’t love me, for a time, as I thought. But I know now that he does.”
He was silent for a few moments, and then he leant across and took her hands in his.
“I am going,” he said, “where there is just the possibility of an accident: one never knows. I wanted to be sure that all was well with you.”
He was looking at the ring upon her hand.