“Did not O'Hara tell you to make no more efforts for my escape?” asked Hogarth.
“Who is O'Hara?”
“Why, the priest who escaped, instead of me, through the copse”.
“O'Hara was not the name he gave me; and no, he said nothing about that. I got him off to America, and only saw him twice. I thought him rather—But why didn't you escape youself?”
“I thought it improper”.
“But you did finally?”
“For a reason: you remember the association which I was forming to answer the question as to the cause of misery? Well, that question I have answered for myself in prison”.
“Really? Tell me!”
Hogarth absently took up a water-colour drawing from the table, and turned it round and round, leaning forward on a knee, as he told how the matter was. Meantime, he kept his eyes fixed upward upon Loveday's face, who stood before him.
In the midst of his talk Loveday scratched the top of his head, where the hair was rather thin, and said he, twisting round: “Forgive me-let me ring for some brandy-and-soda—”