“She has,” said Paul, “and every attention.”
“Ha! that’s well. I think it is time we returned to town, then,” said the barrister. “Come, cheer up, Lieutenant; cheer up, man!”
“I feel better now,” said Paul, taking up his sash, and slinging his sword round his waist. “A nice fellow to be a soldier, I am!” he went on, as he wiped his face with his handkerchief.
“You are a good fellow,” said the barrister; “unfortunate, but a good fellow. What a blessing it is we know each other! I thank that rascal Gibbs that he put a certain young fellow to much trouble years ago. I might never have known you but for that. It was necessary we should know each other: the hand of Fate is in this business.”
It was late when the two friends reached London. They drove from the station to Pimlico, and halted at a house in a quiet bye-street. They both entered, and dismissed the cab.
Mrs. Dibble let them in, and Mr. Williamson recognised her with pleasure.
“You did not tell me she was with Mrs. Dibble,” said the barrister.
“Did I not?” said Paul, hardly heeding the question.
“How is she to-night?” said Paul.
“Better—a little better,” said Mrs. Dibble. “She hath athked for you twenty timeth.”