was a model of rich and somber moderation； drawing； not calling； attention to itself。 He looked like a banker。 Any one could have been proud to be seen off by him。
“Stand back； please！” The train was about to start； and I waved farewell to my friend。 Le Ros did not stand back。 He stood clasping in both hands the hands of the young American。 “Stand back； sir； please！” He obeyed； but quickly darted forward again to whisper some final word。 I think there were tears in her eyes。 There certainly were tears in his when； at length； having watched the train out of sight； he turned round。 He seemed； nevertheless； delighted to see me。 He asked me where I had been hiding all these years； and simultaneously repaid me the half…crown as though it had been borrowed yesterday。 He linked his arm in mine； and walked with me slowly along the platform； saying with what pleasure he read my dramatic criticisms every Saturday。
I told him； in return； how much he was missed on the stage。 “Ah； yes；” he said； “I never act on the stage nowadays。” He laid some emphasis on the word “stage”； and I asked him where； then； he did act。 “On the platform；” He answered。 “You mean；” said I； “that you recite at concerts？” He smiled。 “This；” he whispered； striking his stick on the ground； “is the platform I mean。” Had his mysterious prosperity unhinged him？ He looked quite sane。 I begged him to be more explicit6。
“I suppose；” he said presently； giving me a light for the cigar which he had offere