old
friend Victor Nevill, little altered in five years, except for a heavier
mustache that improved his dark and handsome face. To judge from
appearances, he had not run through with all his money. He was daintily
booted and gloved, and wore morning tweeds of perfect cut; a sprig of
violets was thrust in his button-hole. The two had not met since they
parted in Paris on that memorable night, nor had they known of each
other's whereabouts.

"Nevill, old chap!" cried Jack, holding out a hand.

Nevill clasped it warmly; his momentary confusion had vanished.

"My dear Clare--" he began.

"Not that name," Jack interrupted, laughingly. "I'm called Vernon on
this side of the Channel."

"What, John Vernon, the rising artist?"

"The same."

"It's news to me. I congratulate you, old man. If I had known I would
have looked you up long ago, but I lost all trace of you."

"That's my case," said Jack. "I supposed you were still abroad. Been
back long?"

"Yes, a couple of years."

"By Jove, it's queer we didn't meet before. Fancy you turning up here!"

"I stopped last night with a friend in Grove Park," Nevill answered,
after a brief hesitation, "and feeling a bit seedy this morning, I came
for a stroll along the river. I hear of a gallant rescue from the water,
and, of course, you are the hero, Jack. Is the young lady all right?"

"I believe so."

"Do you know who she is?"

"Miss Madge Poster, sir," spoke up the landlord, "and I can assure you
she was very nearly drowned--"

"Not so bad as that," modestly protested Jack.

Victor Nevill's face had changed color again, and for a second there was
a troubled look in his eyes. He spoke the girl's name carelessly, then
added in hurried tones:

"You must get into dry clothes at once, Jack, or you will be ill--"

"Just what I told him, sir," interrupted the landlord. "Young men _will_
be reckless."

"I am going back to town to keep an engagement," Nevill resumed. "Can I
do anything for you?"

"If you will, old chap," Jack said gratefully. "Stop at my studio,"
giving him the address, "and send my man Alphonse here with a dry rig."

"I'll go right away," replied Neville. "I can get a cab at Kew Bridge.
Come and see me, Jack. Here is my card. I put up in Jermyn street."

"And you know where to find me," said Jack. "I am seldom at home in the
evenings, though."

A few more words, and Neville departed. Jack was prevailed upon by the
landlord to go to an upper room,