Madeline had gone upstairs, and the two men were alone together in the
library. Charles sat beside a lamp, with its light full upon him, but
Wickham had moved into a shadowy corner.
Some neighbors had come in to play bridge, there had been more dancing
and a little supper; and through it all, all the time, Wickham had been
thinking of that look on his brother’s face--a look of terrible pain and
regret and tenderness. He was never going to forget it.
“I can’t--just go on,” he thought. “It’s not possible. It’s--oh, God!
It’s my fault--I’ve thrown them together, and she’s so lovely and sweet
that I might have known. Oh, poor devil! That’s why he wants to go
away!”
“Well, Wick,” said Charles, with a sigh. “Now for that talk, eh?”
It was hard for Wickham Hackett to begin.
“Charley,” he said, “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know, Wick. You’ve been more than decent--about everything; but, to
tell you the truth, I have a hankering for the old life--see? I’m sorry
to let you down, when you’ve taken so much trouble to get me a job, but
I feel I’ve got to get South again, in the sun.”
“Charley--”
“The doctors don’t always know what they’re talking about, you know.
Personally I think it ’ll do me good to get down there in the sun.”
“Charley,” said Wickham, with a monstrous effort, “I--I think you have
another reason.”
“Eh?” said Charles, glancing up sharply.
Their eyes met for an instant.
“I wanted to tell you,” said Wickham, still with a painful effort, “that
it needn’t matter.”
“But--it does,” murmured Charles.
“I wanted to tell you that--I don’t blame you. You can’t help it. Who
could? I’m sure she doesn’t know. I was watching her this evening. I’m
sure she doesn’t suspect.”
“No,” said Charles. “She doesn’t know.”
“She needn’t ever. You can put up at a hotel, Charley, and just come
out for a visit now and then.”
“No, old man,” said Charles quietly. “Wouldn’t do.”
“Yes, it would. See here, Charley--that’s a remarkable opportunity with
Carrick. You’ll--”
“I know,” said Charles; “but I think I’ll go down to Nicaragua, Wick.”
“Charley, don’t do it! She doesn’t know; and as for me--I want you here.
It’s suicide to go down there. Stay here, Charley!”
“Can’t, Wick,” said Charles. Then he glanced up, with his flashing
smile. “I’m off to-morrow, Wick. It’s the best thing. I’m going to make
my fortune down there--see?”
“Charley, this is foolish melodrama stuff! You’re not a boy. It can’t be
as bad as that.”
“It is, Wick--as bad as that.”
Wickham was silent for a long time.
“Charley--” he said, and held out his hand.
“Wick, old man!” said Charles, taking it in his.