was unable to stand out: he was, in truth, becoming acutely anxious, as the hours went on, as to what that night might have waiting for him. He was almost happy as he hurried home to pack up.
His friends, when they had time to take stock of him, were rather shocked at his lorn appearance, and did their best to keep him up to the mark. Not altogether without success: but, when the two men were smoking alone later, Dunning became dull again. Suddenly he said, “Gayton, I believe that alchemist man knows it was I who got his paper rejected.” Gayton whistled. “What makes you think that?” he said. Dunning told of his conversation with the Museum assistant, and Gayton could only agree that the guess seemed likely to be correct. “Not that I care much,” Dunning went on, “only it might be a nuisance if we were to meet. He's a bad-tempered party, I imagine.” Conversation dropped again; Gayton became more and more strongly impressed with the desolateness that came over Dunning's face and bearing, and
