would be
married. Then he could go with Roger. He would have to see his lawyers
in Dublin ... there would be a marriage settlement to make and business
connected with the estate to settle ... and that done, and his book
ready for the printers, he would be free.

"I wish the next two months were over," he said to himself.

He had to change at Salisbury, and while he was waiting for the slow
train to Exeter, he met Mullally. He had looked at him, vaguely
wondering who he was and why his face should seem familiar, until
recollection had come to him, and then, with a return of the old
aversion, he had turned away, hoping that Mullally had not seen or
recognised him. But Mullally had recognised him, and, unable as ever to
understand that his acquaintance was not wanted, he came to Henry and
held out his hand.

"I thought it was you," he said. "I wasn't sure at first, but when you
turned away ... there was something about your back that was familiar
... I knew it was you. _How_ are you? I haven't seen you since you left
Rumpell's, though I've heard of you, of course, and read of you, too!
You've become quite well-known, haven't you?"

Henry smiled feebly, an unfriendly, unresponsive, mirthless smile, as
was his wont when he was in the presence of people whom he disliked.

"I've often wondered about you," Mullally went on, unembarrassed by
Henry's obvious wish to get away from him.

"Oh, yes," Henry replied, saying to himself, "I wish to God my train
would come in!"

"Yes, I've often wondered about you," Mullally went on. "And about
Farlow and Graham and Carey. You were great friends, you four, weren't
you? I'd have called you 'The Heavenly Twins' only there were four of
you, and 'quadruplets' is a difficult word for a nickname, don't you
think? I mean to say 'The Heavenly Quadruplets' doesn't sound nearly so
neat as 'The Heavenly Twins.' It's funnier, of course! What's become of
them all? I saw somewhere that Farlow'd written a play, but I didn't see
it. I've read one or two of your books, by the way. Quite good, I
thought! What did you say'd become of them?"

"Carey's in London ... at the Bar," Henry answered. "I've just been
staying with him. He's married!..."

"Dear me! And has he any ... little ones?"

Oh, that was like Mullally! He would be sure to say "little ones" when
he meant "children."

"He has a daughter!"

"Oh, indeed! He must be very gratified. And Farlow and Graham, how are
they, and what are th