"That's better," Cosden said, rising from his dessert and putting his arm around his friend's shoulders. "Come on up-stairs and we'll gossip over our cigars like two old cats. It won't be long before we can get out on the links again, and then you'll forget that you have any age at all. Age! the idea! Why, Monty, you and I have only just begun to live!"
Arm in arm they walked slowly to the library in silence, but each one wondered at the new characteristic he had discovered in the other. Huntington was touched by Cosden's show of affection, the first time he had ever seen it manifested; Cosden marveled at the first break he had ever seen in his friend's self-possession. However easy-going Huntington might be, he always held himself well in hand; and Cosden envied him this trait. Huntington knew Cosden to be kind-hearted, but believed him to consider any outward demonstration as an evidence of weakness. The mutual discovery, surprising as it was, drew them closer together, and each realized that whatever had been the means a change had come in their relations which placed their friendship on a higher plane.
"There's something deeper in this than appears on the surface," Cosden declared insistently as he held the light for Huntington and then lit his own cigar. "You said down-stairs that we both got out beyond our depth at Bermuda, and perhaps you meant more than I realized. Then, when we met the Thatchers, it developed that you and Mrs. Thatcher had known each other years ago. Now, tell me, is there any association between these two ideas, and is this by chance the explanation of the changed Monty I find here to-night?"
Huntington did not reply at once. He was annoyed with himself that he had uncovered so much of his heart, and he had been pondering how to extricate himself from the delicate position. Under no circumstances must Cosden or any one else know how deep an impression Merry Thatcher had made upon him. The first duty he owed to her was to stand before the world simply as a devoted, older friend; his duty to himself was to prevent his associates from discovering how many kinds of fool he was to permit any such ridiculous condition to arise as that which at present existed. Now Cosden had unconsciously shown him the way out.
"Yes, Connie," he replied calmly; "there is an association which may be made of those ideas, and since you have spoken of it I will ask you to stand by me at the finish. There is something I have intended to do ever since I came home, but I lacked the courage; now you have given it to me."
Huntington rose abruptly, and crossing to the opposite side of the library he lifted the little mahogany table which stood there, placing it before the fire in front of the easy-chair from which he had just risen. Then he seated himself, and taking from his pocket the key to the small drawer he turned it in the lock. Cosden watched him with an interest far deeper than curiosity, for he felt from his friend's manner that the turning of the key unlocked something within him which until that moment had been closely hidden.
"It will be better to get it out of my system," Huntington said finally, after bringing all the accessories together.—"You never knew of my romance, did you?"
"Never," Cosden acknowledged; "I supposed you were the one man who had passed through life unscathed."
"I couldn't have told you of it before because you wouldn't have understood, but now you will appreciate matters better if you know the facts.—Do you remember my surprise when you first mentioned the name of Marian Thatcher?"
"Why, yes; you asked if she was a widow."