."

There really is no resisting Jimmy, nor ever will be. He went up the
Tottenham Court Road next day, walked into Farrell's late place of
business and demanded to see the General Manager; and--if you'll
believe it--that dignitary was fetched amid a hush of awe.
"I dropped in," explained Jimmy, "to see one of those cheap bedroom
suites you advertise, in pickled walnut--or is it _marron glace?_--
suitable for a house-parlourmaid. The fact is, I'm going to get
married--well, you've guessed that--otherwise, of course, I shouldn't
be here. . . . My intended wife--she's a Devonshire lady, by the
way--from near Honiton. Anything wrong about Honiton? . . . No? I
beg your pardon--I thought you smiled. . . . Well, as I was about to
explain, my intended wife, coming as she does from near Honiton--
that's where they make the lace--likes her servants to be
comfortable: at least, so she says. Your late Managing Director, had
he lived--" Here Jimmy made a pause.

"You knew our Mr. Farrell, sir?" asked the present Managing Director,
sympathetically.

"He honoured me with his acquaintance. If he had lived," said Jimmy
. . . "But there! . . . By the way . . . that second marriage of
his--wasn't it rather sudden? I understood him to be a confirmed
widower."

"We know nothing about it, sir: nothing beyond what he conveyed in a
letter to our Vice-Chairman. In fact, sir, during the last year or
so of his life, when Mr. Farrell took his strange fancy for foreign
parts, it seemed to us--well, it seemed to us that, in his strange
condition of mind, anything might happen. To this day, sir, we
haven't what you might call any certitude of his demise. It is not,
up to this moment, legally proven--as they say. Our last letter from
him was dated from far up the coast--from a place called San Ramon,
which I understand to be in Peru. In it he announced that he was
married again, and to a lady (as we gathered) of Peruvian descent.
He added that he had never, previously to the time of writing or
thereabouts, known complete happiness."

Jimmy brought back this information, having, on top of it, acquired a
bedroom suite of painted deal. "And there," said he, "the matter
must rest. Foe's gone, and Farrell's gone. Both decent, in their
way; and both, but for foolish temper, alive now and hearty."

So it seemed to be, and the book to be closed. I mourned for Jack,
yet not as I should have mourned for him a year or two before.
Jim