As soon as he felt himself a little more firmly established, a little more sure of himself, he would go to Edith, and confess everything, and begin life anew.  This had been his mood, but he was still irresolute, and it needed some outside suggestion to push him forward to overcome his lingering reluctance to go home.

But this had come suddenly.  It seemed to him at first thought that he needed time to prepare for it.  Mr. Fletcher pulled out his watch.  “There is a later train at four.  Take that, and we will get some lunch first.”

An hour of postponement was such a relief!  Why, of course he could go at four.  And instantly his heart leaped up with desire.

“All right,” he said, as he rose and closed his desk.  “But I think I’d better not stay for lunch.  I want to get something for the boy on my way uptown.”

“Very good.  Tuesday, then.  My best regards to Edith.”

As Jack came down the stairway from the elevated road at Twenty-third Street he ran against a man who was hurrying up—­a man in a pronounced traveling-suit, grip-sack and umbrella in hand, and in haste.  It was Mavick.  Recognition was instantaneous, and it was impossible for either to avoid the meeting if he had desired to do so.

“You in town!” said Mavick.

“And you!” Jack retorted.

“No, not really.  I’m just going to catch the steamer.  Short leave.  We have all been kept by that confounded Chile business.”

“Going for the government?”

“No, not publicly.  Of course shall confer with our minister in London.  Any news here?”

“Yes; Henderson’s dead.”  And Jack looked Mavick squarely in the face.

“Ah!” And Mavick smiled faintly, and then said, gravely:  “It was an awful business.  So sudden, you know, that I couldn’t do anything.”  He made a movement to pass on.  “I suppose there has been no—­no—­”

“I suppose not,” said Jack, “except that Mrs. Henderson has gone to Europe.”

“Ah!” And Mr. Mavick didn’t wait for further news, but hurried up, with a “Good-by.”

So Mavick was following Carmen to Europe.  Well, why not?  What an unreal world it all was, that of a few months ago!  The gigantic Henderson; Jack’s own vision of a great fortune; Carmen and her house of Nero; the astute and diplomatic Mavick, with his patronizing airs!  It was like a scene in a play.

He stepped into a shop and selected a toy for the boy.  It was a real toy, and it was for a real boy.  Jack experienced a genuine pleasure at the thought of pleasing him.  Perhaps the little fellow would not know him.

And then he thought of Edith—­not of Edith the mother, but of Edith the girl in the days of his wooing.  And he went into Maillard’s.  The pretty girl at the counter knew him.  He was an old customer, and she had often filled orders for him.  She had despatched many a costly box to addresses he had given her.  It was in the recollection of those transactions that he said:  “A box of marrons glaces, please.  My wife prefers that.”