was developing between them, which meant much to Grandcourt, for he was
a lonely man and his shyness had always deprived him of what he most
cared for--what really might have been his only resource--the friendship
of other men.

For some time, while they were talking, Duane had noticed out of the
corner of his eye another man at a neighbouring table--a thin, pop-eyed,
hollow-chested, unhealthy young fellow, who, at intervals, stared
insolently at Grandcourt, and once or twice contrived to knock over his
glass of whiskey while reaching unsteadily for a fresh cigarette.

The man was Stuyvesant Quest, drunk as usual, and evidently in an
unpleasant mood.

Grandcourt's back was toward him; Duane paid him no particular
attention, though at moments he noticed him scowling in their direction
and seemed to hear him fussing and muttering over his whiskey and soda,
which, with cigarettes, comprised his luncheon.

"I wish I were going up to Roya-Neh with you," repeated Grandcourt. "I
had a bully time up there--everybody was unusually nice to me, and I had
a fine time."

"I know they'll ask you up whenever you can get away," said Duane.
"Geraldine Seagrave likes you immensely."

"Does she?" exclaimed Grandcourt, blushing. "I'd rather believe that
than almost anything! She was very, very kind to me, I can tell you; and
Lord knows why, because I've nothing intellectual to offer anybody, and
I certainly am not pretty!"

Duane, very much amused, looked at his watch.

"When does your train leave?" asked Grandcourt.

"I've an hour yet."

"Come up to my room and smoke. I've better whiskey than we dispense down
here. I'm living at the club, you know. They haven't yet got over my
fiasco at home and I can't stand their joshing."

Neither of the men noticed that a third man followed them, stumbling up
the stairs as they took the elevator. Duane was seated in an easy chair
by the fire, Grandcourt in another, the decanter stood on a low table
between them, when, without formality, the door opened and young Quest
appeared on the threshold, white, self-assertive, and aggressively at
his ease:

"If you fellows don't mind, I'll butt in a moment," he said. "How are
you, Mallett? How are you?" giving Grandcourt an impertinent look; and
added: "Do you, by any chance, expect your friend Dysart in here this
afternoon?"

"Dysart is no longer a member of this club," said Grandcourt quietly.
"I've told you that a dozen times."

"All righ