r that Harry Feversham
had news to speak.

"I only reached London this morning from Dublin," he said with a shade
of embarrassment. "I have been some weeks in Dublin."

Durrance lifted his eyes from the tablecloth and looked quietly at his
friend.

"Yes?" he asked steadily.

"I have come back engaged to be married."

Durrance lifted his glass to his lips.

"Well, here's luck to you, Harry," he said, and that was all. The wish,
indeed, was almost curtly expressed, but there was nothing wanting in it
to Feversham's ears. The friendship between these two men was not one in
which affectionate phrases had any part. There was, in truth, no need of
such. Both men were securely conscious of it; they estimated it at its
true, strong value; it was a helpful instrument, which would not wear
out, put into their hands for a hard, lifelong use; but it was not, and
never had been, spoken of between them. Both men were grateful for it,
as for a rare and undeserved gift; yet both knew that it might entail an
obligation of sacrifice. But the sacrifices, were they needful, would be
made, and they would not be mentioned. It may be, indeed, that the very
knowledge of their friendship's strength constrained them to a
particular reticence in their words to one another.

"Thank you, Jack!" said Feversham. "I am glad of your good wishes. It
was you who introduced me to Ethne; I cannot forget it."

Durrance set his glass down without any haste. There followed a moment
of silence, during which he sat with his eyes upon the tablecloth, and
his hands resting on the table edge.

"Yes," he said in a level voice. "I did you a good turn then."

He seemed on the point of saying more, and doubtful how to say it. But
Captain Trench's sharp, quick, practical voice, a voice which fitted the
man who spoke, saved him his pains.

"Will this make any difference?" asked Trench.

Feversham replaced his cigar between his lips.

"You mean, shall I leave the service?" he asked slowly. "I don't know;"
and Durrance seized the opportunity to rise from the table and cross to
the window, where he stood with his back to his companions. Feversham
took the abrupt movement for a reproach, and spoke to Durrance's back,
not to Trench.

"I don't know," he repeated. "It will need thought. There is much to be
said. On the one side, of course, there's my father, my career, such as
it is. On the other hand, there is her father, Dermod Eustace."

"He wishes you to