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 delightful.” And then he went on—“But I simply can't tell you how splendid it is to look at you again. Lots of things have happened to me since I saw you, of course, but I'm just the same—”

Whilst he was speaking his voice had become eager, his eyes bright—he began to pace the room excitedly—

“Oh, Zanti! the days we used to have. I suppose the times I've been having lately had put it all out of my head, but now, with you here, it's all as though it happened yesterday. The day we left Cornwall, you and I—the fog when we got to London everything.” He drew a great breath and stood in the middle of the room listening to the rain racing down the pipes beyond the dark windows.

Mr. Zanti, getting up ponderously, placed his hands on Peter's shoulders.

“Still the same Peter,” he said. “Now I know zat I go 'appy. Zat is all I came for—I said I must zee my Peter because Stephen—”

“Stephen—” broke in Peter sharply.

“Yes, our Stephen. He goes with me now to Spain. He is now, until to-night, in London but he will not come to you because 'e's afraid—”

“Afraid?”

“Yes 'e says you are married now and 'ave a lovely 'ouse and 'e says you 'ave not written for a ver' long time, and 'e just asked me to give you 'is love and say that when 'e comes back from Spain, per'aps—”

“Stephen!” Peter's voice was sharp with distress. “Zanti, where is he now.? I must go and see him at once.”

“No, 'e 'as gone already to the boat. I follow 'im.” Then Mr. Zanti added in a softer voice—“So when he tell me that you 'ave not written I say ‘Ah! Mr. Peter forgets his old friends,’ and I was zorry but I say that I will go and make sure. And now I am glad, ver' glad, and Stephen will be glad too. All is well—”

“Oh! I am ashamed. I don't know what has come over me all this time. But wait—I will write a note that you shall take to him and then—when he comes back from Spain—”

He went to his table and began to write eagerly. Mr. Zanti, meanwhile, went round the room on tip-toe,