At first I hardly grasped the import of my brother’s words, or the fact that here was the old fateful destiny upon me again, so lost were the few faculties¹ I could command in wonder at his unexpected appearance in London.

 

I stared and stared and had not a word to say.

 

“Where’s your tongue, old chap?” he cried. “This is an affectionate greeting on your part, upon my word, and after near four years, too.”

 

I pressed my hand across my forehead and strove to smooth the confusion therefrom.

 

“You must forgive me,” I said at length; “this sudden meeting has driven me all abroad; and then I got stuck down there by mistake, and the sight has half-turned my brain, I think.”

 

“By mistake, was it?” he said, with a mocking titter. “Oh, Renny, don’t I know you?—though your looks are changed, too, for the matter of that; more than mine are, I expect.”

 

I could well believe. Soul and manhood must have wrought² new expression in me; but, for Jason, he was the Jason of old—fuller, more set and powerful; yet the same beautiful personality with the uninterpretable eyes.

 

“Well,” he said, “aren’t you surprised to see me?”

 

“Surprise isn’t the word.”

 

“Nor pleasure either, I expect.”

 

“No. I should be a liar³ to say it was.”

 

“Well, you used to be that, you know; though I dare say you’ve found out the better policy now.”

 

“At any rate, as you’re here, you’ll come home with me, won’t you?”

 

“Of course. That’s what I intend. I’ve been in London three or four days, and went over to your old place yesterday, but found you had left. I got the new address off a queer old chap there. Why didn’t you tell us you had changed?”

 

“I did. I wrote to dad about it.”

 

“Well, anyhow, he never told me.”

 

“That seems funny. How is he?”

 

“Oh, the same old besotted

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