Jack had faced Frank fairly and squarely on the further pavement, and was holding him in talk.
"My dear chap," he was saying, "we've been waiting for you all day. Thank the Lord you've come!"
Frank looked a piteous sight, thought Dick, who now for the first time saw the costume that Mr. Parham-Carter had described with such minuteness. He was standing almost under the lamp, and there were heavy drooping shadows on his face; he looked five years older than when Dick had last seen him—only at Easter. But his voice was confident and self-respecting enough.
"My dear Jack," he was saying, "you really mustn't interrupt. I've only just—" Then he broke off as he recognized the others.
"So you've given me away after all," he said with a certain sternness to the clergyman.
"Indeed I haven't," cried that artless young man. "They came quite unexpectedly this morning."
"And you've told them that they could catch me here," said Frank "Well, it makes no difference. I'm going on—Hullo! Dick!"
"Look here!" said Dick. "It's really serious. You've heard about—" His voice broke.
"I've heard about it," said Frank. "But that doesn't make any difference for to-night."
"But my dear man," cried Jack, seizing him by the lapel of his coat, "it's simply ridiculous. We've come down here on purpose—you're killing yourself—"