Jimmy had gone back into his rooms, and had dropped in a listless attitude into a chair. Anthony Ditchburn, glancing about, saw a bottle and glass on the table, and smacked his lips audibly. The younger man turned towards him, and after looking at him sourly for a moment, nodded at the bottle.
"You'll find a glass over there; help yourself," he said.
Anthony lost no time in doing so; he mixed a generous measure, and raised his glass to his host. "To your good fortune!" he exclaimed.
Jimmy laughed bitterly; then went to the table and mixed for himself. "Good fortune?" he said, as he drank; "my good fortune has gone long ago. You don't know what you're talking about, Ditchburn, when you talk so glibly of good fortune. I was lucky once," he went on more excitedly, and seeming scarcely to realise to whom he talked, so that he might have a listener. "I had the world at my feet; I was envied by everyone; the game was in my hands. Look at me now!"
He spread out his hands and looked about him; his eyes were bloodshot and savage. Tears of bitterness sprang into them now, and he turned away his head. Mr. Anthony Ditchburn, feeling that the right moment had arrived, began warily to unfold his delicate plot.
"I have had the pleasure, during the past few days, of seeing Mrs. Larrance—your wife," he said. "Sweet girl—I wish I could have seen her happier!"
He stopped on glancing at Jimmy; the young man's eyes were deadly. "So you come from her—do you?" he asked; then, without giving Anthony time to reply, he went on more quickly: "You bring something of a message from her, I suppose? I don't want to hear it; I won't hear it."
Anthony Ditchburn, somewhat taken aback, hesitatingly drew the packet from his pocket, and held it out. "I bring no actual message from her," he began; "but I have some letters here——"
"I won't read them."
"Letters which were never intended to be sent, I believe; quite a number of them—all addressed to you. I saw her weeping once when she mentioned your name to the child; I was quite moved, I assure you."