Then I stood in with the natives: you've heard of the treaty--"
Falconer nodded.
"The treaty that enabled you to hand over so many thousand square miles
to the government in exchange for a knighthood."
"No," said Sir Stephen, simply. "I got that for another business; but I
daresay the other thing helped. It doesn't matter. Then I--I married. I
married the daughter of a man of position, a girl who--who loved and
trusted me; who knew nothing of the past you and I know; and as I would
rather have died than that she should have known anything of it, I--"
"Conveniently and decently buried it," put in Falconer. "Oh, yes, I can
see the whole thing! You had blossomed out from Black Steve--"
Sir Stephen rose and took a step towards the door, then remembered that
he had shut it and sank down again, his face white as ashes, his lips
quivering.
--"To Sir Stephen Orme, the African millionaire, the high and lofty
English gentleman with his head full of state secrets, and his safe
full of foreign loans; Sir Stephen Orme, the pioneer, the empire
maker--Oh, yes, I can understand how naturally you would bury the
past--as you had buried your old pal and partner.
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