Evelin would do his best to see that Robin came to no harm. No absurd
and unnecessary promises had been exchanged between the old and the
young man. Their talk had been British, often seemingly casual, and
nearly always touched with deep feeling. It had not opened to Dion new
vistas of Bruce Evelin. For a long time Dion had felt that he knew
Bruce Evelin. But it had given him a definite revelation of the strong
faithfulness, the tenacity of faithfulness in friendship, which was
perhaps the keynote of Bruce Evelin's character.

The parting from Guy had been less eventful. Nevertheless it had helped
to get rid of certain faint misunderstandings which neither of the
friends had ever acknowledged. Since the Mrs. Clarke episode Dion had
been aware that Guy's feeling towards him had slightly changed. They
were such old and tried friends that they would always care for each
other, but Guy could not help resenting Rosamund's treatment of Mrs.
Clarke, could not help considering Dion's acquiescence in it a sign of
weakness. These feelings, unexpressed, but understood by Dion, had set
up a slight barrier between the two young men; it had fallen when they
said good-by. Mrs. Clarke had been forgotten then by Guy, who had only
remembered the gifts of war, and that possibly this was his final sight
of old Dion. All their common memories had been with them when the last
hand-clasp was given, and perhaps only when their hands fell apart had
they thoroughly tested at last the strength of the link between them.
They were friends for life without knowing exactly why. Thousands of
Englishmen were in the same case.

Dion had gone to De Lorne Mansions to bid good-by to Beattie, and with
her, too, he had talked about Robin. Beattie had known when Dion was
coming, and had taken care to be alone. Always quiet, she had seemed
to Dion quieter even than usual in that final hour by the fire, almost
singularly timid and repressed. There had even been moments when she had
seemed to him cold. But the coldness--if really there had been any--had
been in her manner, perhaps in her voice, but had been absent from her
face. They had sat in the firelight, which Beattie was always fond of,
and Dion had not been able to see her quite clearly. If the electric
light had been turned on she might have told him more; but she surely
would not have told him of the quiet indifference which manner and voice
and even inexpressive attitude had seemed to be endeavoring