"Yes."
"Theo,—why, in Heaven's name, won't you cancel this wretched business, and take the money from me instead?"
"Too late now. And, in any case, it's out of the question, for reasons that you would be the first to appreciate—if you knew them."
"But look here—suppose I do know——"
Desmond lifted a peremptory hand.
"Whatever you think you know, for God's sake don't put it into words. I'm bound to go through with this, Paul, in the only way that seems right to me. Don't make it harder than it is already. Besides," he added, with a brisk change of tone, "this is modern history! We're pledged to old times to-night."
Evelyn's fantastic French clock struck three, in silver tones, before the two men parted.
"It's an ill wind that blows no good, after all!" Desmond remarked, as he stood in a wide splash of moonlight on the verandah steps. "I feel ten years younger since the morning. Come again soon, dear old man; it's always good to see you."
And Paul Wyndham, riding homeward under the myriad lamps of heaven, thanked God, in his simple devout fashion, for the courage and constancy of his friend's heart.