“We can’t stand together.  I have forfeited the right.  You chose the high road long ago and I chose the other.  We have both to abide by our choices.  We can’t change those things at will.  Spare me the public revelation if you care to.  I shall be glad for Tony’s sake.  For myself it doesn’t matter much.  I don’t expect to cross your path or hers again.  I am going to lose myself.  Maybe some day you will win her.  She will be worth the winning.  But don’t hurry her if you want to win.  She will have to get over me first and that will take time.”

“She will never get over you, Alan.  I know her.  Things go deep with her.  They do with all the Holidays.  You shan’t lose yourself.  There is no need of it.  Tony loves you.  You must stay and make her happy.  You can now you are free.  She need never know the worst of this any more than the rest of the world need know.  We can divide the money.  It is the only way I am willing to have any of it.”

Alan shook his head.

“We can divide nothing, not the money and not Tony’s love.  I told you I was giving it all up.  You cannot stop me.  No man has ever stopped me from doing what I willed to do.  I have a letter or two to write now and so I’ll leave you.  I am glad you don’t hate me, John Massey.  Shall we shake hands once more and then—­good-night?”

Their hands met again.  A sharp glare of lightning lit the room with ominous brilliancy for a moment.  The paraquet screamed raucously.  And then the door closed on Alan Massey.

An hour later a servant brought word to Dick that an American was below waiting to speak to him.  He descended with the card in his hand.  The name was unfamiliar, Arthur Hallock of Chicago, mining engineer.

The stranger stood in the hall waiting while Dick came down the stairs.  He was obviously ill at ease.

“I am Hallock,” announced the visitor.  “You are Richard Carson?”

Dick nodded.  Already the name was beginning to sound strange on his ears.  In one hour he had gotten oddly accustomed to knowing that he was John Massey.  And no longer needed Tony’s name, dear as it was.

“I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, Mr. Carson,” the stranger proceeded.  “You have a friend named Alan Massey living here with you?”

Again Dick nodded.  He was apprehensive at the mention of Alan’s name.

“There was a riot down there.”  The speaker pointed down the street.  “A fuss over an American flag some dirty German dog had spit at.  It didn’t take long to start a life sized row.  We are all spoiling for a chance to stick a few of the pigs ourselves whether we’re technically at war or not.  A lot of us collected, your friend Massey among the rest.  I remember particularly when he joined the mob because he was so much taller than the rest of us and came strolling in as if he was going to an afternoon tea instead of getting into an international mess with nearly all the contracting parties drunk and disorderly.