ing Scudamour again, so the easiest way to get rid of him
seemed to be to humor him. I therefore told him that Henry was in India,
married, and doing well. "Remember me to Henry when you write to him,"
was Scudamour's last remark to me that evening.

[Illustration]

A few weeks later some one tapped me on the shoulder in Oxford Street.
It was Scudamour. "Heard from Henry?" he asked. I said I had heard by
the last mail. "Anything particular in the letter?" I felt it would not
do to say that there was nothing particular in a letter which had come
all the way from India, so I hinted that Henry was having trouble with
his wife. By this I meant that her health was bad; but he took it up in
another way, and I did not set him right. "Ah, ah!" he said, shaking his
head sagaciously; "I'm sorry to hear that. Poor Henry!" "Poor old boy!"
was all I could think of replying. "How about the children?" Scudamour
asked. "Oh, the children," I said, with what I thought presence of mind,
"are coming to England." "To stay with Alexander?" he asked. My answer
was that Alexander was expecting them by the middle of next month; and
eventually Scudamour went away muttering, "Poor Henry!" In a month or so
we met again. "No word of Henry's getting leave of absence?" asked
Scudamour. I replied shortly that Henry had gone to live in Bombay, and
would not be home for years. He saw that I was brusque, so what does he
do but draw me aside for a quiet explanation. "I suppose," he said,
"you are annoyed because I told Pettigrew that Henry's wife had run away
from him. The fact is, I did it for your good. You see, I happened to
make a remark to Pettigrew about your brother Henry, and he said that
there was no such person. Of course I laughed at that, and pointed out
not only that I had the pleasure of Henry's acquaintance, but that
you and I had talked about the old fellow every time we met. 'Well,'
Pettigrew said, 'this is a most remarkable thing; for he,' meaning
you, 'said to me in this very room, sitting in that very chair, that
Alexander was his only brother.' I saw that Pettigrew resented your
concealing the existence of your brother Henry from him, so I thought
the most friendly thing I could do was to tell him that your reticence
was doubtless due to the unhappy state of poor Henry's private affairs.
Naturally in the circumstances you did not want to talk about Henry." I
shook Scudamour by the hand, telling him that he had acted judiciously;
but