In Friendships Guise | Page 7

artist?"
"The same."
"It's news to me. I congratulate you, old man. If I had known I would
have looked you up long ago, but I lost all trace of you."
"That's my case," said Jack. "I supposed you were still abroad. Been

back long?"
"Yes, a couple of years."
"By Jove, it's queer we didn't meet before. Fancy you turning up here!"
"I stopped last night with a friend in Grove Park," Nevill answered,
after a brief hesitation, "and feeling a bit seedy this morning, I came for
a stroll along the river. I hear of a gallant rescue from the water, and, of
course, you are the hero, Jack. Is the young lady all right?"
"I believe so."
"Do you know who she is?"
"Miss Madge Poster, sir," spoke up the landlord, "and I can assure you
she was very nearly drowned--"
"Not so bad as that," modestly protested Jack.
Victor Nevill's face had changed color again, and for a second there
was a troubled look in his eyes. He spoke the girl's name carelessly,
then added in hurried tones:
"You must get into dry clothes at once, Jack, or you will be ill--"
"Just what I told him, sir," interrupted the landlord. "Young men will be
reckless."
"I am going back to town to keep an engagement," Nevill resumed.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"If you will, old chap," Jack said gratefully. "Stop at my studio," giving
him the address, "and send my man Alphonse here with a dry rig."
"I'll go right away," replied Neville. "I can get a cab at Kew Bridge.
Come and see me, Jack. Here is my card. I put up in Jermyn street."
"And you know where to find me," said Jack. "I am seldom at home in

the evenings, though."
A few more words, and Neville departed. Jack was prevailed upon by
the landlord to go to an upper room, where he stripped off his drenched
garments and rubbed himself dry, then putting on a suit of clothes
belonging to his host. The latter brought the cheering news that Miss
Foster had taken a hot draught and was sleeping peacefully, and that it
would be quite unnecessary to send for a doctor.
A little later Alphonse and a cab arrived at the rear of the Black Bull,
where there was a lane for vehicular traffic, and Jack once more
changed his attire. He left his card and a polite message for the girl,
pressed a substantial tip on the reluctant landlord, and was soon rattling
homeward up Chiswick high-road, feeling none the worse for his
wetting, but, on the contrary, gifted with a keen appetite. He had sent
his boat back to Maynard's.
"What a pretty girl that was!" he reflected. "It's the first time in five
years I've given a serious thought to a woman. But I shall forget her as
quickly--I am wedded to my art. It's rather a fetching name, Madge
Foster. Come to think of it, it was hardly the proper thing to leave my
card. I suppose I will get a fervid letter of gratitude from the girl's
father, or the two of them may even invade my studio. How could I
have been so stupid?"
He ate a hearty lunch, and set to work diligently. But he could not keep
his mind from the adventure of the morning, and he saw more
frequently the face of the lovely young English girl, than that of the
swarthy Moorish dancer he was doing in oils.
Those five years had made a different man of Jack Clare--had brought
him financial prosperity, success in his art, and contentment with life.
He was now twenty-seven, clean-shaven, and with the build of an
athlete; and his attractive, well-cut features had fulfilled the promise of
youth. But for six wretched months, after that bitter night when Diane
fled from him, he had suffered acutely. In vain his friends, none of
whom could give him any clew to his betrayer, sought to comfort him;
in vain he searched for trace of tidings of his wife, for her faithlessness

had not utterly crushed his love, and the recollections of the first
months of his marriage were very sweet to him. The chains with which
the dancer of the Folies Bergere bound him had been strong; his hot
youth had fallen victim to the charms of a face and figure that would
have enslaved more experienced men.
But the healing power of time works wonders, and in the spring of the
succeeding year, when Paris burst into leaf and blossom, Jack began to
take a fresh interest in life, and to realize with a feeling little short of
satisfaction that Diane's desertion was all for the best, and that he was
well rid of a woman