Howard Chitworth Roderick—or Chit, as he’d always been called by close friends and family—was in the middle of a heated game, and Henry slumped into a comfortable chair nearby to wait for the outcome. It was only heated because of the way the men were playfully bantering in a way that mimicked a serious row. And since the bets being made were only small numbers of coins, there were certainly no stakes involved.

Chit was by far one of the finest men Henry had ever known, and he considered their friendship one of the greatest blessings of his life. Henry’s own father had died when he was very young, his mother was barely tolerable company in only small doses, and his sister clung to every opinion that was exactly opposite to his own. Consequently, Henry had found comfort and security in Chit’s home and with his family. Chit had always been of a portly build and had lost most of his hair in his early twenties; he wasn’t known as being fair to look at, but his smile was infectious, and his charm was in his warm personality and his impeccable integrity. Everyone who knew him loved him. But Henry had the privilege of being Chit’s oldest and dearest friend.

Henry laughed when Chit lost the game terribly. He slapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “This is why gambling with anything more than ha’pennies is not good for your health.”

As he came to his feet, Chit laughed and declared he was bowing out of the next game. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said to Henry, easing him away from the crowd where they wouldn’t be overheard. “I was afraid you might have run off before I had a chance to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Henry asked, already skeptical. Chit was known for making plans that included the both of them without first consulting Henry.

“We’re invited to tea tomorrow,” Chit said.

“Oh, you cannot be serious!” Henry declared. “What is this? You’ve got a fancy for some pretty young lass and you get us invited to tea? And of course you have to drag me along so you don’t make yourself too obvious! And what if I’m busy? Or what if I don’t want to go?”

“Oh, come on, old boy,” Chit said. “It’ll be grand! And it’s nothing like that. There you go again, thinking you’ve got me all figured out. It was a kind old chap who invited us; used to live in India. We had a fine visit and he thought it would be grand to have more time to compare notes, and all that. He came back here not long after we left; says he misses it sometimes—although he doesn’t want to go back.”