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It had been a black moment for him when the red-haired young man had uttered those few kind words. "Still you ought to be careful," he said austerely. He looked at Sally, who was now dividing her attention between the poodle and a raffish-looking mongrel, who had joined the party, and returned to the topic of the mysterious Scrymgeour. "How is Scrymgeour's dyspepsia?"
I had a dim consciousness of having been shaken by several hands, of a voice that I think was Scrymgeour's saying that he would often write to me though my new home was to be within the four-mile radius and of another voice that I think was Jimmy's, telling Marriot not to let me see him breaking down.
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