And thinking of her, his mind traveled back into the old
days, even as he followed over the hidden trail of Bram.
Undoubtedly a great many of his old friends had forgotten him.
Five years was a long time, and friendship in the set to which he
belonged was not famous for its longevity. Nor love, for that
matter. Mignon had convinced him of that. He grimaced, and in the
teeth of the wind he chuckled. Fate was a playful old chap. It was
a good joke he had played on him--first a bit of pneumonia, then a
set of bad lungs afflicted with that "galloping" something-or-other
that hollows one's cheeks and takes the blood out of one's
veins. It was then that the horror had grown larger and larger
each day in Mignon's big baby-blue eyes, until she came out with
childish frankness and said that it was terribly embarrassing to
have one's friends know that one was engaged to a consumptive.
Philip laughed as he thought of that. The laugh came so suddenly
and so explosively that Bram could have heard it a hundred yards
away, even with the wind blowing as it was.
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