Sally caught the smile, and almost immediately came over to a seat by Waymark; and, whilst the others were engaged in loud talk, spoke with him privately.

“Have you seen her lately?” she asked.

“Not for some weeks,” the other replied, shaking his head.

“Well, it’s the queerest thing I ever knew, s’nough!  But, there,” she added, with an arch glance, “some men are that stupid—­”

Waymark laughed slightly, and again shook his head.

“All a mistake,” he said.

“Yes, that’s just what it is, you may depend upon it.  I more’n half believe you’re telling fibs.”

Tumblers of whisky were soon smoking on the table, and all except Casti laughed and talked to their heart’s content.  Casti was no kill-joy; he smiled at all that went on, now and then putting in a friendly word; but the vitality of the others was lacking in him, and the weight which crushed him night and day could not so easily be thrown aside.  O’Gree was abundant in reminiscences of academic days, and it would not have been easy to resist altogether the comical vigour of his stories, all without one touch of real bitterness or malice.

“Bedad,” he cried, “I sent old Pendy a business prospectus, with my compliments written on the bottom of it.  I thought he might perhaps be disposed to give me a contract for victualling the Academy.  I wish he had, for the boys’ sake.”

Then, to bring back completely the old times, Mr. Egger was prevailed upon to sing one of his Volkslieder, that which had been Waymark’s especial favourite, and which he had sung—­on an occasion memorable to Sally and her husband—­in the little dining-room at Richmond.

“Die Schwalb’n flieg’n fort, doch sie zieh’n wieder her; Der Mensch wenn er fortgeht, er kommt nimmermehr!”

Waymark was silent for a little after that.

When it was nearly eleven o’clock, Casti looked once or twice meaningly at Waymark, and the friends at length rose to take their leave, in spite of much protest.  O’Gree accompanied them as far as the spot where they would meet the omnibus, then, with assurances that to-night had been but the beginning of glorious times, sent them on their way.  Julian was silent during the journey home; he looked very wearied.  For lack of a timely conveyance the last mile or so had to be walked.  Julian’s cough had been bad during the evening, and now the cold night-air seemed to give him much trouble.  Presently, just as they turned a corner, a severe blast of wind met them full in the face.  Julian began coughing violently, and all at once became so weak that he had to lean against a palisading.  Waymark, looking closer in alarm, saw that the handkerchief which the poor fellow was holding to his mouth was covered with blood.

“We must have a cab,” he exclaimed.  “It is impossible for you to walk in this state.”

Julian resisted, with assurances that the worst was over for the time.  If Waymark would give the support of his arm, he would get on quite well.  There was no overcoming his resolution to proceed.