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“Reggie,” he said, “what do doctors call it when you think you see things when you don’t? Hal-something. I’ve got it, whatever it is. It’s sometimes caused by overwork. But it can’t be that with me, because I’ve not been doing any work. You don’t think my brain’s going or anything like that, do you?”

“What do you mean? What’s been happening?”

“It’s like being haunted. I read a story somewhere of a fellow who kept thinking he saw a battleship bearing down on him. I’ve got it, too. Four times in the last three days I could have sworn I saw my father and Edwin. I saw them as plainly as I see you. And, of course, Edwin’s at home and father’s in Europe somewhere. Do you think it’s some sort of a warning? Do you think I’m going to die?”

“It’s all right, old top,” I said. “As a matter of fact, they are both in New York just now.”

“You don’t mean that? Great Scot, what a relief! But, Reggie, old fox, it couldn’t have been them really. The last time was at Louis Martin’s, and the fellow I mistook for Edwin was dancing all by himself in the middle of the floor.”

I admitted it was pretty queer.

I was away for a few days after that in the country. When I got back I found a pile of telegrams waiting for me. They were all from Florence, and they all wanted me to go to Madison Avenue. The last of the batch, which had arrived that morning, was so peremptory that I felt as if something had bitten me when I read it.

For a moment I admit I hung back. Then I rallied. There are times in a man’s life when he has got to show a flash of the old bulldog pluck, don’t you know, if he wants to preserve his self-respect. I did then. My grip was still unpacked. I told my man to put it on a cab. And in about two ticks I was bowling off to the club. I left for England next day by the Lusitania.

About three weeks later I fetched up at Nice. You can’t walk far at Nice without bumping into a casino. The one I hit my first evening was the Casino Municipale in the Place Massena. It looked more or less of a Home From Home, so I strolled in.

There was quite a crowd round the boule tables, and I squashed in. And when I’d worked through into the front rank I happened to look down the table, and there was Edwin, with a green Tyrolese hat hanging over one ear, clutching out for a lot of five-franc pieces which the croupier was steering toward him at the end of a rake.

I was feeling lonesome, for I knew no one in the place, so I edged round in his direction.

Halfway there I heard my name called, and there was Mrs. Darrell.

I saw the whole thing in a flash. Old man Craye hadn’t done a thing to prevent it–apart from being eccentric, he was probably glad that Edwin had had the sense to pick out anybody half as good a sort–and the marriage had taken place. And here they were on their honeymoon.

I wondered what Florence was thinking of it.

“Well, well, well, here we all are,” I said. “I’ve just seen Edwin. He seems to be winning.”

“Dear boy!” she said. “He does enjoy it so. I think he gets so much more out of life than he used to, don’t you?”

“Sure thing. May I wish you happiness? Why didn’t you let me know and collect the silver fish-slice?”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Pepper. I did write to you, but I suppose you never got the letter.”

“Mr. Craye didn’t make any objections, then?”

“On the contrary. He was more in favor of the marriage than anyone.”

“And I’ll tell you why,” I said. “I’m rather a chump, you know, but I observe things. I bet he was most frightfully grateful to you for taking Edwin in hand and making him human.”

“Why, you’re wonderful, Mr. Pepper. That is exactly what he said himself. It was that that first made us friends.”

“And–er–Florence?”

She sighed.

“I’m afraid Florence has taken the thing a little badly. But I hope to win her over in time. I want all my children to love me.”

“All your what?”

“I think of them as my children, you see, Mr. Pepper. I adopted them as my own when I married their father. Did you think I had married Edwin? What a funny mistake. I am very fond of Edwin, but not in that way. No, I married Mr. Craye. We left him at our villa tonight, as he had some letters to get off. You must come and see us, Mr. Pepper. I always feel that it was you who brought us together, you know. I wonder if you will be seeing Florence when you get back? Will you give her my very best love?”