"Shall we tell it to one person, and let him be the town-crier?"
"That, I suppose, would be the best plan; meantime, I could retire, while I made some plans for the future."
"Perhaps, if you really must tell the truth, it would be well to go out of town for a bit."
"As for myself," Harry continued, "I suppose I shall get over the wrench after a bit. Just for the moment I feel knocked out of time."
"Keep the secret, then; let it be one between you and me only, Harry; let no one know."
But he shook his head.
"Everybody must know. Those who refuse to keep up the acquaintance of a private soldier's son—well, then, a non-commissioned officer's son—will probably let me know their decision, some way or other. Those who do not——" He paused.
"Nonsense, boy; who cares nowadays what a man is by birth? Is not this great city full of people who go anywhere, and are nobody's sons? Look here, and here"—he tossed half a dozen cards of invitation across the table—"can you tell me who these people were twenty years ago—or these—or these?"
"No: I do not care in the least who they were. I care only that they shall know who I am; I will not, for my part, pretend to be what I am not."