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tomorrow... about ten o'clock. I don't start till past midday."
I assented. I was no longer disturbed by any mortal concerns, not even by the sense of the coming sundering. Distrust—loneliness—the one was past, even if the other were to come!
The hotel-portier handed me a telegram, as we halted in the light of the doorway.
"Wait till I read this," I said.
The dispatch ran: "Situation changed. Your coming unnecessary. Await my letter. Am starting for Scotland."
I gave an exclamation of pleasure, and translated the words to Imre.
"What! Then you need not leave Szent-Istvánhely?" he asked quickly, in the tone of heartiest pleasure that a friend could wish to hear. "Teremtette! I am as happy as you!.... What a good thing, too, that we were so sensible as not to allow ourselves to make a dumpish, dismal afternoon of it, over there as the Z.... You see, I am right, my dear fellow.. I am always right!... Philo-
