CHAPTER XXIII

“You foresee the course of the narrative?”

“Better tell it in detail,” muttered Hilliard.

“Why this severe tone?  Do you anticipate something that will shock your moral sense?  I didn’t think you were so straitlaced.”

“Do you mean to say——­”

Hilliard was sitting upright; his voice began on a harsh tremor, and suddenly failed.  The other gazed at him in humorous astonishment.

“What the devil do you mean?  Even suppose—­who made you a judge and a ruler?  This is the most comical start I’ve known for a long time.  I was going to tell you that I have made up my mind to marry the girl.”

“I see—­it’s all right——­”

“But do you really mean,” said Narramore, “that anything else would have aroused your moral indignation?”

Hilliard burst into a violent fit of laughter.  His pipe fell to the floor, and broke; whereupon he interrupted his strange merriment with a savage oath.

“It was a joke, then?” remarked his friend.

“Your monstrous dulness shows the state of your mind.  This is what comes of getting entangled with women.  You need to have a sense of humour.”

“I’m afraid there’s some truth in what you say, old boy.  I’ve been conscious of queer symptoms lately—­a disposition to take things with absurd seriousness, and an unwholesome bodily activity now and then.”

“Go on with your tragic story.  The girl asked you to find her a place——­”

“I promised to think about it, but I couldn’t hear of anything suitable.  She had left her address with me, so at length I wrote her a line just saying I hadn’t forgotten her.  I got an answer on black-edged paper.  Miss Madeley wrote to tell me that her father had recently died, and that she had found employment at Dudley; with thanks for my kindness—­and so on.  It was rather a nicely written letter, and after a day or two I wrote again.  I heard nothing—­ hardly expected to; so in a fortnight’s time I wrote once more.  Significant, wasn’t it?  I’m not fond of writing letters, as you know.  But I’ve written a good many since then.  At last it came to another meeting.  I went over to Dudley on purpose, and saw Miss Madeley on the Castle Hill.  I had liked the look of her from the first, and I liked it still better now.  By dint of persuasion, I made her tell me all about herself.”

“Did she tell you the truth?”

“Why should you suppose she didn’t?” replied Narramore with some emphasis.  “You must look at this affair in a different light, Hilliard.  A joke is a joke, but I’ve told you that the joking time has gone by.  I can make allowance for you:  you think I have been making a fool of myself, after all.”

“The beginning was ominous.”

“The beginning of our acquaintance?  Yes, I know how it strikes you.  But she came in that way because she had been trying for months ——­”