'Except what? What's the matter, old fellow?'
'I have no business to be here. I ought not to have come. Who am
I?—what am I? Just a poor wreck without a memory.'
'A poor wreck without a memory!' I laughed. 'Don't be an ass, man. Look at that ribbon on your new tunic! Think of all the flattering things that have been said about you, and then talk about being a poor wreck without a memory!'
'I am an old man before my time,' and his voice was unnatural as he spoke. 'Look at my face, seamed and lined. I am here on sufferance, here because you have been a friend to me. I have no name, no past, and no—no future.'
'That's not like you, Edgecumbe,' I protested. 'You've always been a jolly, optimistic beggar, and now you talk like an undertaker. Future! why, you're a young fellow barely thirty. As for your name, you've made one, my boy, and you'll make a bigger one yet, if I'm not mistaken. You are a welcome guest here, too,—there is not the slightest doubt about that.'
'Yes, but what have I?'
'Come now, get into those togs quick; we mustn't keep them waiting, you know; it would not be courteous on our part, after all their kindness, too.'
A sudden change swept across his face. 'You are right, Luscombe,' he said; 'I'm ashamed of myself. After all—— I'll be ready in five minutes. There's one thing about a soldier's togs, it doesn't take long to put 'em on.'
It was a very quiet dinner party. The two Bolivick boys were away at
the front, and Lorna was the only one of the children at home. Sir
Thomas and Lady Bolivick were there, but beyond Norah Blackwater,
Edgecumbe and I were the only guests.
It was evident to me that Edgecumbe was an entire stranger to Norah Blackwater. Her face did not move a muscle at his appearance; and although he sat next to her at table, she seemed to find no interest in his conversation. He was very quiet during dinner, and although Sir Thomas tried to draw him out, and make him describe some of the scenes through which he had passed, he was peculiarly reticent.