wrong they look, won't bear explanation of some kind; and the other is that an honourable man does not grow crooked in a moment. Is there anything, Art, that you would like to tell me?"
"There is, Dick! I have a lot to tell; but won't you tell me what you wish me to speak about?" I was just going to tell him all, but it suddenly occurred to me that it would be wise to know something of what was amiss with him first.
"Then I shall ask you a few questions! Did you not tell me that the girl you were in love with was not Norah Joyce?"
"I did; but I was wrong. I did not know it at the time—I only found it out, Dick, since I saw you last!"
"Since you saw me last! Did you not then know that I loved Norah Joyce, and that I was only waiting a chance to ask her to marry me?"
"I did!" I had nothing to add here; it came back to me that I had spoken and acted all along without a thought of my friend.
"Have you not of late payed many visits to Shleenanaher; and have you not kept such visits quite dark from me?"
"I have, Dick."
"Did you keep me ignorant on purpose?"
"I did! But those visits were made entirely on your account."—I stopped, for a look of wonder and disgust spread over my companion's face.
