Langholm, like many a better man, I left my country for my country's good.

Never mind the offence; the curious can hunt up the case, and will perhaps admit there have been worse.

But that man and I were transported to Western Australia on the same vessel in '69." "And yet," said Langholm--they were not quite his next words--"and yet you challenged me to discover the truth! I still can't understand your attitude that night!" Steel stood silent.
"Some day I may explain it to you," he said.

"I am only now going to explain it to my wife." The men shook hands.
And Langholm rode on his bicycle off the scene of the one real melodrama of a life spent in inventing fictitious ones; and if you ask what he had to show for his part in it, you may get your answer one day from his work.

Not from the masterpiece which he used to talk over with Mrs.
Steel, for it will never be written; not from any particular novel or story, much less in the reproduction of any of these incidents, wherein he himself played so dubious a part; but perhaps you will find your answer in a deeper knowledge of the human heart, a stronger grasp of the realities of life, a keener sympathy with men and (particularly) with women, than formerly distinguished this writer's books.