ked
excitedly of war and its consequences, with perverse spirit he fell
like a sledge-hammer, and proved their information or judgment wrong.
Then, again, he became amiable and almost sentimental in his attitude
toward them all, gripping the hands of two or three with a warmth which
more than surprised them. It was as though he was subconsciously aware
of some great impending change. It may be there whispered through the
clouded space that lies between the dwelling-house of Fate and the
place where a man's soul lives the voice of that Other Self, which
every man has, warning him of darkness, or red ruin, or a heartbreak
coming on.

However that may be, he had played a good deal during the evening, had
drunk more than enough brandy and soda, had then grown suddenly
heavy-hearted and inert. At last he had said good-night, and had fallen
asleep in the little dark room adjoining the card-room.

Was it that Other Self which is allowed to come to us as our trouble or
our doom approaches, who called sharply in his ear as De Lancy Scovel
said, "Byng ought to get up earlier in the morning--much earlier."

Rudyard wakened upon the words without stirring--just a wide opening of
the eyes and a moveless body. He listened with, as it were, a new sense
of hearing, so acute, so clear, that it was as though his friends
talked loudly in his very ears.

"He'd see the Outlander early-bird after the young domestic worm."

His heart beat so loud that it seemed his friends must hear it, in the
moment's silence following these suggestive words.

"Here, there's enough of this," said Barry Whalen, sharply, upon the
stillness. "It's nobody's business, anyhow. Let's look after ourselves,
and we'll have enough to do, or I don't know any of us."

"But it's no good pretending," said Fleming. "There isn't one of us but
'd put ourselves out a great deal for Byng. It isn't human nature to
sit still and do naught, and say naught, when things aren't going right
for him in the place where things matter most.

"Can't he see? Doesn't he see--anything?" asked a little wizened
lawyer, irritably, one who had never been married, the solicitor of
three of their great companies.

"See--of course he doesn't see. If he saw, there'd be hell--at least,"
replied Barry Whalen, scornfully.

"He's as blind as a bat," sighed Fleming.

"He got into the wrong garden and picked the wrong flower--wrong for
him," said another voice. "A passion-flower, not the flowe