e travel; shed tears,
as we cast grain, by machinery. Two years! Why, I have passed through
half-a-dozen worlds. My bosom friend of '62 wouldn't remember me if I
met him to-morrow. I met old Baron Desordres, who has made such a
brilliant _fiasco_ for everybody except himself, yesterday; I knew him
in '62 with poor little Bartle, who lent him a couple of thousands.
Bartle died last month. In '62 Desordres and Bartle were inseparable. I
said to the Baron yesterday, 'You know poor little Bartle is dead.' The
Baron, picking his teeth, murmured, turning over the leaves of his
memory, '_Bartel! Bartel!_ I remember--_un petit gros, vrai?_' and the
leaves of the Baron's memory were turned back, and Bartle was as much
forgotten in five minutes as the burnt end of a cigarette. I daresay his
sisters are gone as governesses for want of the thousands the Baron ate.
Two years! Two epochs!"

"I suppose so. While the light burns, and the summer is on, the moths
come out. Tragedy, comedy, and farce elbow each other through the rooms.
I have seen very much myself, for bird of passage. I took part in a
strange incident when I passed through last time."

"Tell your story, and drink your Roederer, my dear Q. M."

"Story! I want to get at the story. I travelled with a man and his wife
from Folkestone to Paris. On the boat he was the most attentive of
husbands; at the terminus he had disappeared. Poor woman in tears; fell
into my arms, sir, by Jove!"

"No story!" cried Bertram, winking at the floating air-beads in his
glass. "No story! my good, simple Q.M. Egad! what would you have? Pray
go on."

"Go on! I've finished. I was off in the afternoon by the Marseilles
mail. Of course, I did my utmost to find the husband. She went to the
Windsor; I thought it would be quiet for her. I went to the police, paid
to have inquiries kept up in all the hotels; and lastly, put her in
communication with a good business man--Moffum, you know; and left her,
a wreck of one of the prettiest creatures I have ever seen."

"What kind of fellow was the husband? You got his name, of course?"

"Daker--Herbert Daker. Man of good family. A most agreeable, taking,
travelled companion; light and bright as----"

"The light-hearted Janus of Lamb," Bertram interrupted, his words
dancing lightly as the beads in his glass.

The association of Daker with Wainwright struck me sharply. For how
genial and accomplished a man was the criminal! a stranger
conglomeration o