low the average as he
had been above it. Clearly, he had let go of himself and no longer took
pleasure in the vanities: it seemed to me a bad sign.

I had always thought of him as very healthy, likely to live till sixty
or seventy; but he had no longer any hold on himself and that depressed
me; some spring of life seemed broken in him. Bosie Douglas' second
betrayal had been the _coup de grace_.

In the carriage he was preoccupied, out of sorts, and immediately began
to apologise.

"I shall be poor company, Frank," he warned me with quivering lips.

The fragrant summer air in the Champs Elysees seemed to revive him a
little, but he was evidently lost in bitter reflections and scarcely
noticed where he was going. From time to time he sighed heavily as if
oppressed. I talked as well as I could of this and that, tried to lure
him away from the hateful subject that I knew must be in his mind; but
all in vain. Towards the end of the lunch he said gravely:

"I want you to tell me something, Frank; I want you to tell me honestly
if you think I am in the wrong. I wish I could think I was.... You know
I spoke to you the other day about Bosie; he is rich now and he is
throwing his money away with both hands in racing.

"I asked him to settle L1,500 or L2,000 on me to buy me an annuity, or
to do something that would give me L150 a year. You said you did not
care to ask him, so I did. I told him it was really his duty to do it at
once, and he turned round and lashed me savagely with his tongue. He
called me dreadful names. Said dreadful things to me, Frank. I did not
think it was possible to suffer more than I suffered in prison, but he
has left me bleeding ..." and the fine eyes filled with tears. Seeing
that I remained silent, he cried out:

"Frank, you must tell me for our friendship's sake. Is it my fault? Was
he wrong or was I wrong?"

His weakness was pathetic, or was it that his affection was still so
great that he wanted to blame himself rather than his friend?

"Of course he seems to me to be wrong," I said, "utterly wrong." I could
not help saying it and I went on:

"But you know his temper is insane; if he even praises himself, as he
did to me lately, he gets into a rage in order to do it, and perhaps
unwittingly you annoyed him by the way you asked. If you put it to his
generosity and vainglory you would get it easier than from his sense of
justice and right. He has not much moral sense."

"Oh, Frank," he b