meal this week. But
I had forgotten," she broke off, with a sudden note of disappointment in
her tone. "There's your brother. I mustn't take you away from him."

"We'll all have dinner together," John suggested. "You'll come, of
course, Stephen?"

Stephen shook his head.

"Thank you," he said, "I am due at my hotel. I'm going back to
Cumberland to-morrow morning, and my errand is already done."

"You will do nothing of the sort!" John declared.

"Please be amiable," Sophy begged. "If you won't come with us, I shall
simply run away and leave you with John. You needn't look at your
clothes," she went on. "We can go to a grill-room. John sha'n't dress,
either. I want you to tell me all about Cumberland, where this brother
of yours lives. He doesn't tell us half enough!"

John passed his arm through his brother's and led him away.

"Come and have a wash, old chap," he said.

They dined together at Luigi's, a curiously assorted trio--Sophy,
between the two men, supplying a distinctly alien note. She was always
gay, always amusing, but although she addressed most of her remarks to
Stephen, he never once unbent. He ate and drank simply, seldom speaking
of himself or his plans, and firmly negativing all their suggestions
for the remainder of the evening. Occasionally he glanced at the clock.
John became conscious of a certain feeling of curiosity, which in a
sense Sophy shared.

"Your brother seems to me like a man with a purpose," she said, as they
stood in the entrance-hall on their way out of the restaurant. "Like a
prophet with a mission, perhaps I should say."

John nodded. In the little passage where they stood, he and Stephen
seemed to dwarf the passers-by. The men, in their evening clothes and
pallid faces, seemed suddenly insignificant, and the women like dolls.

"For the last time, Stephen," John said, "won't you come to a music-hall
with us?"

"I have made my plans for the evening, thank you," Stephen replied,
holding out his hand. "Good night!"

He left them standing there and walked off down the Strand. John,
looking after him, frowned. He was conscious of a certain foreboding.

XXVI

"I suppose," Sophy sighed, as they waited for a taxicab, "we shall spend
the remainder of the evening in the usual fashion!"

"Do you mind?" John asked.

"No," she assented resignedly. "That play will end by making a driveling
idiot of me. Only think for yourself! At first