“Only a few lines,” Bob went on, ruefully; “they are the first thing I heard or saw when I got down, and they almost made me wish I’d come down with a run!  Well, it’s no use talking about it, I only thought you’d know.  It was the usual smack in the eye, I suppose, only nicely put and all that.  She didn’t tell me where she was going, or why; she told me I had better ask you.”

“But you wouldn’t condescend.”

Bob gave a rather friendly little laugh.

“I said I’d see you damned!” he admitted.  “But of course I thought you were the lucky man.  I still half believe you are!”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Do you mean to say that she’s refused you too?”

“She hasn’t had the chance.”

Bob’s eyes opened to an infantile width.

“But you told me you were in earnest!” he urged.

“As much in earnest as you were, I believe was what I said.”

“That’s the same thing,” returned Bob, sharply.  “You may not think it is.  I don’t care what you think.  But I’m very sorry you said you were in earnest if you were not.”

And his tone convinced me that he was no longer commiserating himself; he was sorry on some new account, and the evident reality of his regret filled me in turn with all the qualms of a guilty conscience.

“Why are you sorry?” I demanded.

“Oh, not on my own account,” said Bob.  “I’m delighted, personally, of course.”

“Then do you mean to say—­you actually told her—­I was as much in earnest as you were?”

Bob Evers smiled openly in my face; it was the only revenge he ever took; and even it was tempered by the inextinguishable sweetness of expression and the childlike wide-eyed candour which were Bob’s even in the hour of his humiliation, and will be, one hopes, all his days.

“Not in so many words,” he said, “but I am afraid I did tell her in effect.  You see, I took you at your word.  I thought it was quite true.  I’m awfully sorry, Duncan.  But it really does serve you right!”

I made no answer.  I was looking at the suit-case on the bed.  Bob seemed to have lost all interest in his packing.  I turned to leave him without a word.

“I am awfully sorry!” he was the one to say again.  I began to wonder when he would see all round the point, and how it would affect his feeling (to say nothing of his actions) when he did.  Meanwhile it was Bob who was holding out his hand.

“So am I,” I said, taking it.

And for once I, too, was not thinking about myself.

CHAPTER XII

A STERN CHASE