half the idea of the rare beauty of his face, to which, strangely, the waste of illness now seemed to have restored some of its youth. Mr. Carteret was evidently conscious that this morning he should not be able to go on long, so that he must be practical and concise. "I dare say you know—you have only to remember," he continued.
"You know what a pleasure it is to me to see you—there can be no better reason than that."
"Hasn't the year come round—the year of that foolish arrangement?"
Nick thought a little, asking himself if it were really necessary to disturb his companion's earnest faith. Then the consciousness of the falsity of his own position surged over him again, and he replied: "Do you mean the period for which Mrs. Dallow insisted on keeping me dangling? Oh, that's over."
"And are you married—has it come off?" the old man asked, eagerly. "How long have I been ill?"
"We are uncomfortable, unreasonable people, not deserving of your interest. We are not married," Nick said.
"Then I haven't been ill so long," Mr. Carteret sighed, with vague relief.
"Not very long—but things are different," Nick continued.
The old man's eyes rested on his, and Nick noted how much larger they appeared. "You mean the arrangements are made—the day is at hand?"
"There are no arrangements," Nick smiled: "but why should it trouble you?"
