He had eaten something at this club, without caring what it was.
He had gone to the Opera afterwards, merely because his recollections of a favourite singing-lady of that season vaguely reminded him of Carmina.
And there he was, at midnight, on his return from the music, eager for the next opportunity of seeing his cousin, a few hours hence--when he had arranged to say good-bye at the family breakfast-table.
To feel this change in him as vividly as he felt it, could lead to but one conclusion in the mind of a man who was incapable of purposely deceiving himself.

He was as certain as ever of the importance of rest and change, in the broken state of his health.

And yet, in the face of that conviction, his contemplated sea-voyage had already become one of the vanished illusions of his life! His friend had arranged to travel with him, that morning, from London to the port at which the yacht was waiting for them.

They were hardly intimate enough to trust each other unreservedly with secrets.

The customary apology for breaking an engagement was the alternative that remained.