his grip upon all things that
concerned the profession he had chosen was so prodigious that his patron
would upon occasion consult with him as an equal, detecting in him that
flare of genius which in itself is of more value than years of
accumulated knowledge. He had the gift of magnetism to an extraordinary
degree, and he coupled with it an unerring instinct upon which he was not
afraid to rely. Equipped thus, he was bound to come to the front, though
whether the Wyndham blood in him would suffer him to stay there was a
proposition that time alone could solve.

His effect upon Bertrand was little short of magical. Sitting there
beside him with the wasted wrist between his fingers, and his green eyes
gazing at nothing in particular, there was little about him to indicate a
remarkable personality. Yet the drawn look passed wholly away from the
sick man's face, and he leaned back among his pillows with a restfulness
that he had been very far from feeling a few seconds earlier.

"So you are reading all about the Rodolphe _affaire_," Max said
presently.

"It is Mr. Mordaunt's own report," Bertrand explained. "It interests
me--that. I feel as if I heard him speak."

Max grunted. He had asked no question as to the circumstances that had
led to Bertrand's departure, and Bertrand had volunteered no information.
It had been a closed subject between them by mutual consent. But to-night
for some reason Max approached it, warily, as one not sure of his ground.

"When do you hope to see him again?"

A slight flush rose in Bertrand's face. "Never--it is probable," he said
sadly.

"Ah! Then you had a disagreement?"

Bertrand looked at him questioningly.

Max smiled a little. "No, it isn't vulgar curiosity. Fact is, I came
across my cousin Jack Forest to-day. You remember Jack Forest? I've been
dining with him at his club. We hadn't met for ages, and naturally we had
a good deal to say to one another."

He paused, gently relinquishing his hold upon Bertrand's wrist, and
got up to pour something out of a bottle on the mantelpiece into a
medicine-glass.

"Drink this, old chap," he said, "or I shall tire you out before I've
done."

"You have something to say to me?" Bertrand said quickly.

Max nodded. "I have. Drink first, and then I will tell you. That's the
way. You needn't be in a hurry. You were going to tell me about that
disagreement, weren't you? At least, I think you were. You have been rash
enough to trust me be