“But perhaps I want to confess them. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. Every one else does. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. And he would express various artistic sensibilities and aesthetic appreciations in carefully punctuated sentences and a large, clear voice. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband.
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