“Yes, I’ve just come from him. He was kindness itself, and has offered me an excellent post; I am to take up my duties after Easter. He told me what you said about me, Sir Robert. It was very good of you!”
“Good! It was the bare truth, and the very least I could do to make some amends. I shall make more amends, as you’ll know in time, Roger. Good-bye, my dear boy, good-bye. In time perhaps—Time is always the great healer—you will be able to forget as well as to forgive!”
Roger never saw him again. Next week news of his death reached them at Argeles, and later tidings that he had bequeathed to them both ten thousand pounds, and to Roger the greater part of his superb library.
Towards the end of Easter week, Austin and Winnie unexpectedly turned up at Argeles, also on their honeymoon, having been quietly married on the previous Tuesday. “Nobody there but George, and a dear fat old pew-opener,” Winnie announced gleefully. “And we decided we must come and have a peep at you two. Can’t we all go back together next week as far as Paris? Then we’re off to the States, via Havre.”
“That’s so, but only for a few months. We shall come back to London in the fall,” said Austin. “Say, Roger, have you seen any New York papers?”
“Not I, and very few others. We’ve almost forgotten, here, that the Press exists!”
“I guess so. But you may be interested to hear that Cacciola’s first concert—Melikoff’s début—was an immense success. Melikoff got right there—a regular furore; the critics are just about raving over him and Miss Maddelena—or Mrs. Melikoff as I suppose she is by this time, for they’re to be married this week. Won’t she mother him—some; keep a tight hand over him, too, I guess.”
Later, when Austin and he were alone together, Roger asked for news of Thomson.
“I meant to tell you, though not while Grace was here. You know he was certified as insane and unable to plead, and so was consigned to Broadmoor?”