. Armitage would recognise your name,' I answered
evasively.

'Precisely. Not long ago I gave him, through an agent, a very handsome
price for some pictures he had to sell.'

Again he looked at me, watching the effect of his words.

'Of course,' he continued, 'there were ample apologies for his treatment of
us yesterday. By the bye, I take it for granted you don't carry a
dress-suit in your bag?'

'Heaven forbid!'

'To be sure--pray don't misunderstand me. I meant that you had expressly
told me of your avoidance of all such formalities. Therefore you will be
glad that I excused you from dining at the Hall.'

For a moment I felt uncomfortable, but after all I _was_ glad not to have
the trouble of refusing on my own account.

'Thanks,' I said, 'you did the right thing.'

We walked over to the inn, and sat down at a rude but not unsatisfying
table. After dinner, Ireton proposed that we should smoke in the garden.
'It's quiet, and we can talk.' The sun had just set; the sky was
magnificent with afterglow. Ireton's hint about privacy led me to hope that
he was going to talk more confidentially than hitherto, and I soon found
that I was not mistaken.

'Do you know,' he began, calling me by my name, 'I fancy you have been
criticising me--yes, I know you have. You think I made an ass of myself
about that affair in the wood. Well, I have no doubt I did. Now that it has
turned out pleasantly, I can see and admit that there was nothing to make a
fuss about.'

I smiled.

'Very well. Now, you're a writer. You like to get at the souls of men.
Suppose I show you a bit of mine.'

He had drunk freely of the potent ale, and was now sipping a strong tumbler
of hot whisky. Possibly this accounted in some measure for his
communicativeness.

'Up to the age of five-and-twenty I was clerk in a drug warehouse. To this
day even the faintest smell of drugs makes my heart sink. If I can help it,
I never go into a chemist's shop. I was getting a pound a week, and I not
only lived on it, but kept up a decent appearance. I always had a good suit
of clothes for Sundays and holidays--made at a tailor's in Holborn. Since
he disappeared I've never been able to find any one who fitted me so well.
I paid six-and-six a week for a top bedroom in a street near Gray's Inn
Road. Did you suppose I had gone through the mill?'

I made no answer, and, after looking at me for a moment, Ireton resumed:

'Those were damned days! It wasn't the want o