he while.

"Halloa, Olga, old girl! Where's your boss?"

He was not far off, having been warned of the approach of his friend,
and in another moment the two men were shaking hands cordially.

"By Jove, Barry, it's good to see you again!" There was no mistaking the
pleasure in the tone. "I thought you'd be looking me up--someone told me
you were staying down here."

"Yes--only for three days, worse luck. I'm with the Ansteys--you know
Miss Lynn is Mrs. Anstey's niece, and she is there too."

"I see. Well, come in and have a peg." He led the way hospitably through
the green door into the bungalow, and a minute later the two were seated
cosily in the little living-room, which looked oddly attractive in the
lamplight.

Olga, the wolfhound, followed them in as a matter of course, and when
her master had mixed drinks for himself and his visitor, and had taken
his seat, she lay down beside him, her long nose resting on her paws,
while she blinked sleepily in the mellow light.

"Well, Barry, how goes the world? Cheerily, eh?"

"With me? Yes." He took a pull at his glass, "I'm A 1, and so is Olive."

"Work going ahead? I hear the _Bridge_ is making its way."

"Rather!" He spoke enthusiastically. "The next number will be out in a
few days, and it's better than ever."

"Good! Of course Rose is an excellent man for the job. If he can't make
it go, no one can. By the way, he's come to live down here, as I daresay
you know."

"Yes." Barry spoke slowly, and lighted a cigarette rather thoughtfully.
"As a matter of fact, Jim, that's partly why I've come to see you at
this unholy hour."

"Better now than never!" said his host genially. "But I don't think I
quite understand you."

"No." For a moment Barry said nothing more, and the other man looked at
him a little oddly.

He himself was worth looking at, in spite of the shabbiness which
betrayed either a bachelor habit of mind, or a lofty disdain for the
trappings of life. A man of about forty-one, his face was a curious
mixture of youth and age, of experience and of idealism. His big, bright
eyes and curving mouth betokened enthusiasm, fire, a kindly philosophy;
while the lines upon his forehead and the grey streaks in his abundant
hair seemed to speak of deeper things. Life had indeed graven with its
chisel lines and marks ineffaceable. It was the face of one who had
suffered deeply, who had passed through more than one saddening
experience. In repose one would have s