“Do I?” the other replied meaningly. “Well, perhaps I may be excused for imagining you would just as soon that things remained as they were. It is scarcely worth discussing.”
“I think it is,” Herriard maintained.
“Oh, no,” Gastineau denied with decision. “I am ready to accept your assurance that you are pleased at my recovery,” he continued, in an off-hand tone. His manner of almost vicious irritation had disappeared. It was now easy and, but for a lurking suspicion of spite, almost pleasant.
“Of course I am,” Herriard assured him, with a show of greater conviction than perhaps he felt. “Tell me how it has come to pass?”
Gastineau took out a cigarette and lighted it. “There is nothing much to tell; I have, as you know, a strong constitution and a still stronger will. First of all, let me tell you, since you have found out what it amused me to keep secret—by the way, I thought you left the house some time ago?” He spoke sharply, as though accusing Herriard of a trick.
“I was half out of the house,” he hastened to explain, “but came back to write a note. I was in the study when you came downstairs, and could not believe my eyes when I saw you.”
“And came up here to see whether I was my own ghost or not?” Gastineau supplemented with his quick perceptiveness. Herriard nodded. “Well, there is no harm done, except, perhaps, so far as my own plan of life may be affected. Now, although the conditions are changed, I wish my being alive to be kept as close a secret as ever.”
“Of course,” Herriard responded. “You may trust me not to breathe a hint of it.”
“To any one?”
“To any one.”