He smiled now as he stretched out his long, finely-molded hand.
"I am very glad to see you, Chayne," he said, in a voice remarkable for its gentleness, "although in another way I am sorry.

I am sorry because, of course, I know why you are in England and not among the Alps." Chayne had risen from his chair, but Kenyon laid a hand upon his shoulder and forced him down again with a friendly pressure.

"I read of Lattery's death.

I am grieved about it--for you as much as for Lattery.

I know just what that kind of loss means.