He must bury himself in that.

And fortunate, indeed, he was, he told himself, that he had something so absorbing.
It was at this point in his meditations that Bertram rounded a corner and came face to face with a man who stopped him short with a jovial: "Isn't it--by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! Well, what do you think of that for luck ?--and me only two days home from 'Gay Paree'!" "Oh, Seaver! How are you?
You _are_ a stranger!" Bertram's voice and handshake were a bit more cordial than they would have been had he not at the moment been feeling so abused and forlorn.

In the old days he had liked this Bob Seaver well.

Seaver was an artist like himself, and was good company always.

But Seaver and his crowd were a little too Bohemian for William's taste; and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to what she called "that horrid Seaver man." In his heart, Bertram knew that there was good foundation for their objections, so he had avoided Seaver for a time; and for some years, now, the man had been abroad, somewhat to Bertram's relief.