“But tell me first,” Mortimer continued after a pause, “what’s wrong with you? I know there is something; I saw it in your face this morning, and though you’ve been as jolly as jolly all day, you’ve not been quite your real self. What is it?”
“So I look different, and seem different, and my picture’s not mine. There’s nothing wrong, Fred, nothing that I can lay a name to, but you’re right. I’m changed. It’s this beastly separation from Marian that doesn’t agree with me. I’ll come up to town with you to-morrow and fetch her down here, or settle into the old place again.”
“You’re very fond of her,” Mortimer said meditatively, staring at the blazing coals. “I was in love once, and I know what it means, old chap.”
“I never knew that——?”
“You’re the only one beside myself that does. She wasn’t for me. I’ve told you this because I’ve something—very difficult to tell you, and I want you to understand that—I understand.”
“It is something wrong with Marian then?” Maddison exclaimed, starting to his feet.
“Sit down, George, sit down. I’ll walk about in the dark while I tell you; that’s why I asked you not to light the lamps. Sit down, and hold on tight, grit your teeth, George; I’m going to hurt you.”
Mortimer paced slowly up and down, while Maddison sat down again, awed into obedience.
“I’m going to hurt you, George; I needn’t tell you that I’d give a lot not to have to do it. But you’d better hear it from me than find it out for yourself.”
“Quick, quick, don’t beat about the bush. What is it?”