“I expect he’d be rather glad.”

“Then we will be out in the tandem.  If you kill him, or the other way, just do it outside, will you, so as not to make a mess?  Now we’ll lunch, and then Bob, my boy, we’ll evaporate.”

It was about three o’clock when Stafford arrived.  He had managed to catch the 1:30 from London, and must have started the moment he had read his letter.  He was shown into the billiard-room, where Eugene was restlessly smoking a cigar.

He came swiftly up, and held out his hand, saying: 

“This is like you, my dear old fellow.  Not another man in England would have done it.”

“Nonsense!” replied Eugene.  “I ought to have done more.”

“More?  How?”

“I ought to have waited till you came before I went to see her.”

“No, no; that would have been too much.”

He was quite calm and cool; apparently there was nothing on his mind, and he spoke of Eugene’s visit as if it concerned him little.

“I daresay you’re surprised at all this,” he continued, “but I can’t talk about that now.  It would upset me again.  Beside, there’s no time.”

“Why no time?”

“I must go straight over and see her.”

“My dear Charley, are you set on going?”

“Of course.  I came for that purpose.  You know how sorry I am we are rivals; but I agree with what you said—­we needn’t be enemies.”

“It wasn’t that I meant.  But you don’t ask how I fared.”

“Well, I was expecting you would tell me, if there was anything to tell.”

“I went, you know, to ask her to be my wife.”

Stafford nodded.

“Well, did you?”

“No, not exactly.”

“I thought not.”

“I tried to—­I mean I wasn’t kept back by loyalty to you—­you mustn’t think that.  But she wouldn’t let me.”

“I thought she wouldn’t.”

Eugene began to understand his state of mind.  In another man such confidence would have made him angry; but he had only pity for Stafford.

“I must try and make him understand,” he thought.

“Charley,” he began, “I don’t think you quite follow, and it’s not very easy to explain.  She didn’t refuse me.”

“Well, no, if you didn’t ask,” said Stafford, with a slight smile.

“And she didn’t stop me in—­in that way.  Look here, old fellow; it’s no use beating about the bush.  I believe she means to have me.”

Stafford said nothing.

“But I don’t say that to put you off going, because I’m not sure.  But I believe she does.  And you ought to know what I think.  I tell you all I know.”

“Do you tell me not to go?”

“I can’t do that.  I only tell you what I believe.”

“She said nothing of the sort?”

“No—­nothing explicit.”

“Merely declined to listen?”

“Yes—­but in a way.”

“My dear Eugene, aren’t you deceiving yourself?”