“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“That’s why I turned up. But then I saw that man there and—then I saw that man there and—then Lily Trevelyan saw me—and well—I just could n’t stand it—that ’s all! I ’m done for. I can never go back to England! Dear, rotten old England! My life ’s over!”
He stopped and wiped his eyes which had filled with tears, and Micky could see what it had cost him to tell the story.
“Not over yet!” answered Micky, laying his hand on Cloud’s shoulder. “You may be done as Cosmo Graeme, but there's many a good man who ’s gone on living and done useful work under some other name than his own. You give me a chance to think it over. Maybe I can think something up before we reach New York. . . . And thank you for telling me.”
“Good night,” he said, opening the door.
“Good night,” answered Cloud. He could say no more.
Micky returned to his seat at the desk and sat there for a long time in what is commonly described as a brown study, but in his case it was, or would have been by daylight, rather a139
