“You remember that dinner at Lady Crichton’s, where we met the other night?”

“Yes.”

“Startling bit of news to-night, wasn’t it?  Damned sudden!”

Julian looked puzzled.

“What—­is Lady Crichton ill, then?”

“Lady Crichton!  No.  I meant about that poor fellow, Marr.”

Julian swung round in his seat and regarded the man full in the face.

“Marr!  Why, what is it?  Has he had an accident?”

“Dead!” the other man said laconically, arranging the gardenia in his coat, and taking a comprehensive survey of the room.

“Dead!” Julian repeated, without expression.  “Dead!”

“Yes.  Well, bye-bye.  Going on to the Empire!”

He turned to go, but Julian caught his arm.

“Wait a moment.  When did he die?”

“Last night.  In the dead of the night, or in the early morning.”

“What of?”

“They don’t know.  There’s going to be an inquest.  The poor chap didn’t die at home, but in a private hotel, in the Euston Road, the ‘European.’  He’s lying there now.  Funny sort of chap, but not bad in his way.  I expect—­”

Here the man bent down and murmured something into Julian’s ear.

“Well, see you again presently.  ‘In the midst of life,’ eh?”

He lounged away and began applying his intellect to the dissection of a sardine.

Julian turned round in his chair and again faced Valentine.  But he did not go on eating the cutlet in aspic that lay upon his plate.  He sat looking at Valentine, and at last said: 

“How horribly sudden!”

“Yes,” Valentine answered sympathetically.  “He must have had a weak heart.”

“I dare say.  I suppose so.  Valentine, I can’t realize it.”

“It must be difficult.  A man whom you saw so recently, and I suppose apparently quite well.”

“Quite.  Absolutely.”

Julian sat silent again and allowed the waiter to take away his plate with the untouched cutlet.

“I didn’t like the man,” he began at last.  “But still I’m sorry, damned sorry, about this.  I wanted to see him again.  He was an awfully interesting fellow, Val; and, as I told you, might, I believe, in time have gained a sort of influence over me,—­not like yours, of course, but he certainly had a power, a strength, about him, even a kind of fascination.  He was not like other people.  Ah—­” and he exclaimed impatiently, “I wish you had met him.”

“Why?”

“I scarcely know.  But I should like you to have had the experience.  And then, you are so intuitive about people, you might have read him.  I could not.  And he was a fellow worth reading, that I’m certain of.  No, I won’t have any mutton.  I seem to have lost my appetite over this.”

Valentine calmly continued his dinner, while Julian talked on about Marr rather excitedly.  When they were having coffee Valentine said: