"He took three days' leave to nurse his father at Brighton, with the intention of coming back here to-night," John said to himself. "He will be here directly." And he made up his mind what he would do.
And in truth a few minutes later a hansom rattled to the door, and Archie came in, breathless with haste. He looked eagerly round the room, and then, as he caught sight of the unexpected occupant, his face crimsoned, and he grinned nervously.
"She is gone," said John, without moving.
"Gone? Who? I don't know what you mean."
"No, of course not. What made you so late?"
"Train broke down outside London."
"I came here to get your address at Brighton, because I have news for you. You are there at this moment, aren't you, looking after your father?"
Archie did not answer. He only grinned and showed his teeth. John was aware that though he stood quietly enough by the table, turning over some loose silver in his pocket, he was in a state of blind fury. He also knew that if he waited a little it would pass. Something in John's moral and physical strength had always the power to quell Archie's fits of passion.
"I had no intention of prying on you," said John, after an interval. "I wanted your address at Brighton, and I could not wait till to-morrow for it. I am going to Paris to-night on business, and—as it is yours as much as mine—you will go with me."
Archie never indulged in those flowers of speech with which some adorn their conversation. But there are exceptions to every rule, and he made one now. He culled, so to speak, one large bouquet of the choicest epithets and presented it to John.