Sargeant stood there, the well-groomed clubman of thirty; a little cynical perhaps, but a really good fellow for all that, and undeniably fond of Condy.

But somewhere with the eyes of some second self Condy saw the girl of nineteen, part child and part woman; saw her goodness, her fine, sweet feminine strength as it were a dim radiance; "What's a good man worth, Condy," she had said, "if he's not a strong man ?" "I suppose we'll have a game going before midnight," admitted Sargeant resignedly, smiling good-humoredly nevertheless.
Condy set his teeth.

"I'll join you later.

Wait a few moments," he said.

He hurried to the office of the club, and sent a despatch to Blix--the third since morning: "Can I come up right away?
It's urgent.