They used to talk
of her--telling the wildest yarns, as though it did them good just to
think there was someone left alive who had so much go in them. Queer,
isn't it? Do you remember what a susceptible chap I used to be--that
poor little Connie--what's-her-name, whom I nearly scared out of her five
senses? Well, I've not cared a snap for any woman since then. And I
want to--I want to. I'd be so awfully happy if I could only care for
some nice girl and marry her. There was someone on the boat--such a
jolly good sort--and I think if I only could have cared she'd have cared
too. But I couldn't. I tried to work myself up--but it was like
scratching on a dead nerve--as though something vital had gone clean out
of me."
His voice cracked. Stonehouse, startled from his own reflections, became
aware that Cosgrave, whose apathy had hung about them like a fog, hiding
them from each other, was on the point of tears--of breaking down
helplessly in the crowded entrance. And instantly their old relationship
was re-born. He took him by the arm, sternly, authoritatively, as he had
always done when little Rufus Cosgrave had begun to flag or cry.
"You're coming home with me. When you're fit enough we'll do the show
opposite and make a night of it. We'll see what going to the devil can
do for you."
"Perhaps she'd make me laugh again," Cosgrave said, quavering
hysterically.
4
At any rate he had kept faith with himself.
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