Ned made no reply. He was puffing his cigar in silence, and following the curling smoke with his eye as he blew it against the light—a favorite fashion of his when thinking to himself. He was thinking now, rapidly, how changed was his friend in so short a time. He was wondering where all the ardent spirit and high hopes that fired him a few years back had gone. Contact with the world, instead of crushing, had raised his own hopes the more. Why had it not done the same for Howard? He could find no solution to the difficulty; for life to him was a glorious battle, and inaction worse than death. His friend must have encountered some great shock, some bitter disappointment, at the outset. He was seeking the clew in the smoke apparently. After a painful pause, he at length asked:
"How long have you been here now, George?"
"On and off, a year or more. I go and come. I make short excursions round about for a week or so sometimes, but I always return here."
"You entered a firm on the other side, did you not?"
"No; I was about to do so."
"And why didn't you? Were they cheats?"
"No."
"Did they fail?"
"No."