Chapter III

Madeline had gone upstairs, and the two men were alone together in the library. Charles sat beside a lamp, with its light full upon him, but Wickham had moved into a shadowy corner.

Some neighbors had come in to play bridge, there had been more dancing and a little supper; and through it all, all the time, Wickham had been thinking of that look on his brother’s face--a look of terrible pain and regret and tenderness. He was never going to forget it.

“I can’t--just go on,” he thought. “It’s not possible. It’s--oh, God! It’s my fault--I’ve thrown them together, and she’s so lovely and sweet that I might have known. Oh, poor devil! That’s why he wants to go away!”

“Well, Wick,” said Charles, with a sigh. “Now for that talk, eh?”

It was hard for Wickham Hackett to begin.

“Charley,” he said, “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, Wick. You’ve been more than decent--about everything; but, to tell you the truth, I have a hankering for the old life--see? I’m sorry to let you down, when you’ve taken so much trouble to get me a job, but I feel I’ve got to get South again, in the sun.”

“Charley--”

“The doctors don’t always know what they’re talking about, you know. Personally I think it ’ll do me good to get down there in the sun.”

“Charley,” said Wickham, with a monstrous effort, “I--I think you have another reason.”

“Eh?” said Charles, glancing up sharply.

Their eyes met for an instant.

“I wanted to tell you,” said Wickham, still with a painful effort, “that it needn’t matter.”

“But--it does,” murmured Charles.

“I wanted to tell you that--I don’t blame you. You can’t help it. Who could? I’m sure she doesn’t know. I was watching her this evening. I’m sure she doesn’t suspect.”

“No,” said Charles. “She doesn’t know.”

“She needn’t ever. You can put up at a hotel, Charley, and just come out for a visit now and then.”

“No, old man,” said Charles quietly. “Wouldn’t do.”

“Yes, it would. See here, Charley--that’s a remarkable opportunity with Carrick. You’ll--”

“I know,” said Charles; “but I think I’ll go down to Nicaragua, Wick.”

“Charley, don’t do it! She doesn’t know; and as for me--I want you here. It’s suicide to go down there. Stay here, Charley!”

“Can’t, Wick,” said Charles. Then he glanced up, with his flashing smile. “I’m off to-morrow, Wick. It’s the best thing. I’m going to make my fortune down there--see?”

“Charley, this is foolish melodrama stuff! You’re not a boy. It can’t be as bad as that.”

“It is, Wick--as bad as that.”

Wickham was silent for a long time.

“Charley--” he said, and held out his hand.

“Wick, old man!” said Charles, taking it in his.