of hot iron had died out long ago, but the scar remained.  He was no longer a common soldier, but rich and prosperous, a social success with, perhaps, his ambition gratified; but the ‘D’ was there all the time, and every now and then, even while he was enjoying himself, he could feel the hot iron burning into his flesh, and he knew within the miserable little soul of him that he was a cur and a coward; that, driven by fate, perhaps by some devilish accident of circumstance, he had lost his honour and sold himself to the devil.”

Howard’s face went pale and grave.

“I don’t see where the application comes in, Staff,” he said.  “I don’t see that anything in your case—­position, resembles that poor wretch’s.”

Stafford rose, his face grim and stern.

“No; and I can’t show you, Howard,” he said.  “Do you think that poor devil would have bared his breast and shown that ‘D’ to even his dearest friend?  Good God, man, why do you badger me!  Am I to wear the cap and bells always, do you expect me to be dancing like a clown every moment of the day?  Do I not play my part as well as I can?  Who gave you the right to peer and pry—­”

He recovered suddenly from the fit of fury and gripped Howard’s arm as he almost shrank back from the burst of despairing rage.

“Forgive me, old man!  I didn’t mean to turn and rend you like this.  I know you see there is something wrong.  There is.  But I can’t tell you or any other man.  There are some things that have to be borne in silence, some marks of the branding-iron, which one dare not show to even one’s dearest friend.”

Howard turned aside and began to put on his gloves with great care.  His hand shook and his voice also, slightly, as without raising his head, he said: 

“Sure there’s no help for it, Staff?”

“Sure and certain,” responded Stafford.  “Not even your wit and wisdom can be of any avail.  I won’t ask you not to speak of this again; it isn’t necessary; but I will ask you never, by look or sign, to remind me of what I have just said to you.  It escaped me unawares; but I’ll keep a better watch on myself for the future, and not even the knowledge of your sympathy shall lure another moan out of me.”  He made a gesture with his hand and threw his head back as if he were sweeping something away; and in something like his usual voice he said, with perfect calmness:  “By the way, Maude asked me to tell you not to be late to-night; to come before the crush arrives.  I think she is relying on you to help her in some way or other.”

Howard nodded, and speaking with his usual drawl, said: 

“‘Awake and call me early, mother.’  I will be there in good time.  Miss Falconer does me the great honour of permitting me to flatter myself that I am sometimes of some slight service to her.  I imagine it is something about the cotillon, concerning which I am absolutely ignorant, and am therefore capable of offering any amount of advice.  I am a whale at giving advice, and my only consolation is that no one is ever foolish enough to follow it; so that I can humour my little foible without suffering the terrors of responsibility. Au revoir, my dear Stafford, until this evening.  Good-bye, Tiny!  What a selfish little beast it is; he won’t even raise his head!”