He growled out some reply which was scarcely intelligible, and I left the room.
I went into my library, where Beatrice Sinclair was waiting for me.
"Well," she said, coming up to me eagerly, "is he ready for me?"
"He thinks you have forgotten him," I said, "and that in all probability you are married to another."
"What a cruel thought!"
"But he keeps your photograph in his breast pocket."
"Does he, indeed?" Her eyes blazed with sudden joy.
"He is tempted often to throw it into the fire," I continued, "for he feels himself unworthy of you; but he neither dares to throw it away nor to look at it."
"He shall look at me instead. Take me to him at once."
"You will see the wreck of the Tollemache you used to know."