or two in that of the still finer contention
that even the basest misdeeds had always somewhere or other, could one
get at it, their propitiatory side, our hero found himself on his
feet again, under the influence of a sudden failure of everything but
horror--a horror determined by some turn of their talk and indeed by the
very fact of the freedom of it. It was as if a far-borne sound of the
hue and cry, a vision of his old friend hunted and at bay, had suddenly
broken in--this other friend's, this irresistibly intelligent other
companion's, practically vivid projection of that making the worst
ugliness real. "Oh, it's just making my wry face to somebody, and your
letting me and caring and wanting to know: that," Mark said, "is what
does me good; not any other hideous question. I mean I don't take any
interest in _my_ case--what one wonders about, you see, is what can be
done for him. I mean, that is"--for he floundered a little, not knowing
at last quite what he did mean, a great rush of mere memories, a great
humming sound as of thick, thick echoes, rising now to an assault that
he met with his face indeed contorted. If he didn't take care he should
howl; so he more or less successfully took care--yet with his host
vividly watching him while he shook the danger temporarily off. "I don't
mind--though it's rather _that_; my having felt this morning, after
three dismal dumb bad days, that one's friends perhaps would be thinking
of one. All I'm conscious of now--I give you my word--is that I'd like
to see him."

"You'd like to see him?"

"Oh, I don't say," Mark ruefully smiled, "that I should like him to see
_me_--!"

Newton Winch, from where he stood--and they were together now, on the
great hearth-rug that was a triumph of modern orientalism--put out one
of the noted fine hands and, with an expressive headshake, laid it on
his shoulder. "Don't wish him that, Monteith--don't wish him that!"

"Well, but,"--and Mark raised his eyebrows still higher--"he'd see I
bear up; pretty well!"

"God forbid he should see, my dear fellow!" Newton cried as for the pang
of it.

Mark had for his idea, at any rate, the oddest sense of an exaltation
that grew by this use of frankness. "I'd go to him. Hanged if I
wouldn't--anywhere!"

His companion's hand still rested on him. "You'd go to him?"

Mark stood up to it--though trying to sink solemnity as pretentious.
"I'd go like a shot." And then he added: "And it's probably what--w