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. These, at all
events, are some of the things which Charles Langholm has to show, if he
will only show them.
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