"She keeps them among
her greatest treasures."
Ford turned sharply on his pillows, and stifled an exclamation of pain.
"You know her still, then?" he said.
"She is my wife," the doctor answered.
A long silence followed his words. The wounded soldier lay with closed
eyes and drawn brows. He seemed to be unconscious of everything save
physical pain.
Suddenly he seemed to recover himself, and looked up.
"You," he said slowly, "you are Montagu Durant, the fellow she was
engaged to before she married Rotherby."
The doctor bent his head.
"Yes," he said. "I am Montagu Durant."
"Rotherby's friend," Ford went on. "The chap who stuck to him through
thick and thin--to be betrayed in the end. I know all about you, you
see, though you haven't placed me yet."
"No, I can't place you," Durant said. "I don't think we ever knew each
other very well. You will have to tell me who you are."
"Later--later," said Ford. "No, you never knew me very well. It was
always you and Rotherby, you and Rotherby. You never looked at any one
else, till that row at the 'Varsity when he got kicked out. Yes," with a
sudden, sharp sigh, "I was a 'Varsity man too. I admired Leonard
Rotherby in those days. Poor old Leo! He knew how to hit a boundary as
well as any fellow! You never forgave him, I suppose, for marrying your
girl?"
There was a pause, and the fevered eyes sought Durant's face.
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