“You will never get him to tell you that,” laughed Bertie Richmond.  “You had better ask Fisher.”

“Oh, rats!” cried Charlie vehemently.  “Fisher, I’ll break your head with this racquet if you give my show away.  Come along!  I believe the moon has contracted a romantic habit of rising over the sea when the sun sets.  Let’s go and——­”

“I’ll tell you, Molly,” broke in Bertie, linking a firm arm in Charlie’s to keep him quiet.  “He can’t break his host’s head, you know.  It’s a scald, eh, Charlie?  He got it in the engine-room of the Andover one night in the autumn.  You were on board, you know.  Help me to hold him, Fisher!  He’s getting restive.  But I thought you knew all about it, Molly.  You told me so.”

“Oh, I didn’t know—­this!” the girl said.  “How could I?  I never guessed—­this!”

Her three listeners were all surprised by the tragic note in her voice.  There was a momentary silence.  Then Charlie made a fierce attempt to wrest himself free.

“You infernal idiots!” he exclaimed violently.  “Fisher, if you interfere with me any more I—­I’ll punch your head!  Bertie, don’t be such a fool!”

He shook them off with an angry effort.  Fisher laughed quietly.

“You can’t always hide your light, my dear fellow,” he observed.  “If you will do impossible things, you will have to put up with the penalty of being occasionally found out.”

“Silly ass!” commented Bertie.  “Anyone would think that to save a few hundred human lives was a thing to be ashamed of.  It was the same thing in South Africa; always slinking off into the background when the work was done, till everyone took you for nothing but a looker-on—­a chap who ought to wear the V.C., if ever there was one,” he ended, thrusting an arm through Charlie’s, as the latter, having put on his coat, turned once more towards them.

“Oh, you are utterly wrong,” the boy said forcibly, almost angrily.  “If you judge a man by what he does on impulse you might decorate the biggest blackguard in the world with the V.C.”

“You’re made of impulse, my dear lad,” Bertie remarked, walking off with him.  “You’re a mass of impulse.  That’s why you do such idiotic things.”

Charlie yielded, chafing, to the friendly hand.

“I should like to kick you, Bertie,” he said.

But he went no further than that.  Bertie Richmond was his very good friend, and he was Bertie’s.  Neither of them was likely to forget that fact.

VIII

“Oh, Charlie, here you are!  I am glad!”

Molly entered the smoking-room with an air of resolution.  She had just returned from evening church with Fisher.  They were late, and the latter had gone off to dress forthwith.

But Molly had glanced into the smoking-room, and, seeing Charlie alone there, as she had half hoped but scarcely expected, she entered.