"God knows! I think I am losing my mind."
"You will not think it treason; you will not blame me for importing a little common-sense into our sad position?"
"How can I blame you, Len--you, the truest friend that a man ever had? Do not think me ungrateful. I have only one desire in life--to find Emilia. I can think of nothing but her."
"Understand, Gerald, that I make it entirely in Emilia's interests."
"Our best plan will be to go to the hotel and jump into bed----"
"There, I knew you would storm at me; but just be reasonable."
"I can't be reasonable. I must find Emilia."
"All right, dear boy. I'll stand by you till I drop. Which way shall we turn?"
Gerald, in response to this heartless question, led the way aimlessly down one street, up another, and on and on, Leonard trudging by his side, and neither of them speaking a word. At last Gerald stopped, and gazed pitifully around; his eyes fell upon Leonard, who, conscious that the gaze was coming, and timing it, closed his with an air of pathetic weariness.
Leonard instantly opened his eyes, and said briskly, "Tired, dear boy! Not a bit of it. What should make me tired? Come along, old fellow. Let's be moving."
"No, it is myself. What o'clock is that striking?"
Leonard put up his finger, and they listened to the chiming of the bells.
"What is Emilia doing now?" murmured Gerald, more to himself than to his companion.
"No, Len. I know her better than you do. She is awake, thinking of me, as I am thinking of her. You are some years older than I, dear brother; have you ever been in love?"
"And you are still unmarried," said Gerald, pityingly. "How did it end?"
"Forgive me; it is a painful remembrance. She is dead?"
Leonard did not reply, and Gerald repeated,
"How did it happen? You were true to her, I am sure."
"For heaven's sake, Gerald, do not force me to answer you. Let us talk of something else."
"I open my heart to you," said Gerald, with sad insistence, "and you close yours to me."
"You cut me to the quick. Yes, I was true to her, but she was not true to me. There is the tragedy or the comedy--which you like, Gerald--related in less than a dozen words. It is a story which all men live to tell--all men, I mean, with the exception of yourself."