eye. "Do I need to
suggest more?" he asked steadily.

"Suggest--more?" Randall's look was blank. "I don't believe I
understand."

"I mean concerning--the reason I mentioned. Haven't you noticed anything
yourself, had any intimation?"

"I know nothing, have noticed nothing."

"No?" Armstrong's scrutiny was merciless, all but incredulous. "Nothing
concerning Elice and--and Darley Roberts--not a whisper?"

Against his will Randall's eyes dropped. At last he understood.

"You have heard. I thought so." Armstrong fumbled with his cuffs, played
for time, which meant for self-control. "I'm glad. It saves
my--explaining."

"Yes, I've heard." Randall's tongue lagged unwillingly. "I couldn't help
it; but believed, in the least, before--no. I thought he was your
friend."

"Was, yes. Now--It's been some time since we came to an understanding;
and he told me, warned me. I don't blame him--or her. I've had my chance,
ample chance, God knows.... It's simply true."

Randall looked up unbelievingly.

"And you don't hate him, you who were his friend?"

"Hate?... I don't know, don't know anything these days except that I'm
down--down; down in the mire, deep!" It was the end, the last crumb of
confidence, and Armstrong leaped to his feet. "But what's the use of
dissecting any more, what possible use?" His hat was in his hand and he
was heading for the door. "It's all simply maddening, and I'm a fool, a
visionary fool, who can't change myself or alter events; powerless--" He
halted, turned half about. Instinctive courtesy sprang to his lips.
"Pardon me, Harry, for bothering you with all this when you can do
nothing. I had no idea when I came of staying so long or--or of making a
spectacle of myself." He smiled, almost his old smile. "Forgive me this
time and I promise never to do it again, never." He turned once more to
the door. "Don't get up, old man. I can find my way out. Good-night."

"Steve! Wait!" Randall too was on his feet, a sudden premonition of
things to come in his mind, a feeling, more than of pity, for the
intention he read clear in the other's face. "Don't go yet--don't go at
all. Stay with me to-night, please."

"Stay!" Armstrong too understood, and, understanding, smiled; a smile the
other man never forgot. "Stay--to-night?... No, thank you. I appreciate
your motive," hurriedly, "don't fancy it's not that; but--" no
questioning that preventing gesture, no combating it--"but to-night I'm
going to forget....