"Nonsense, Basil," said Chaytor with magnanimous humility; "don't say anything about it."
"But it ought to be said, and I should be the ungratefullest fellow living if I ever missed an opportunity of acknowledging it. I owe you something too, Corrie. There's that mare of yours I borrowed and lost."
"Shut up," growled Old Corrie, "if you want us to part friends. I've never given the mare a thought, and as for paying me for it, well, you can't, and there's an end of it. I'll say before your mate what is in my mind. You're a gentleman, Master Basil, and here you are wasting your time and your years to no purpose. England is the proper place for you." Chaytor caught his breath, and neither Basil nor Old Corrie could have interpreted this exhibition of emotion aright; but Basil, who thought he understood it, smiled gently at Chaytor, as much as to say, "Don't fear, I am not going to desert you." Old Corrie, who had paused, took up his words: "England is the proper place for you. Say the word, and we'll go together to Sydney and take two passages for home. There you can hunt up your old friends, and you'll be a man once more. Come now, say, 'Yes, Corrie,' and put me under an obligation to you for life."
"I can't say yes, Corrie, but I'm truly obliged to you for your kind offer. Even if I wished to break my connection with Chaytor--which I don't--it's for him to put an end to our partnership, not for me--don't you see that it would be impossible for me to lay myself under an obligation to you?"
"No, I don't see it,' growled Old Corrie.
"Then, again, Corrie, what inducement have I to return to England?"
"There's little lady," interrupted Old Corrie.
"She has forgotten me," said Basil, sadly. "What business have I to thrust myself upon her? If she desired to continue a friendship which was as precious to me as my heart's blood--yes, I don't mind confessing it; there may be weakness, but there is no shame in it--would she not have written to me? She would, if it was only one line. It is true that her uncle may be jealously guarding and watching her--there was love lost between us--but in these three years that have passed since the last day we saw each other, it is not possible to think that she could not have contrived once to have put in the post a bit of paper with only the words, 'I have not forgotten you, Basil.' Who and what am I that I should cross the road she is traversing for the purpose of bringing a reminiscence to her mind that she chooses not to remember? There would not be much manliness in that. Besides, it's a hundred chances to one that she's not in England at all. It is my belief she is living in her father's native country, Switzerland, where, surrounded by new scenes and new companions, I hope she is happy. Thank you again, Corrie; I cannot accept your offer."