and put them on again.

"It's a-concerning of these domestic matters," he said. "I come up to
tell yer, knowing as you're interested in this family."

"Well," said Hilary. "What has happened?"

"It's along of the young girl's having left them, as you may know."

"Ah!"

"It's brought things to a crisax," explained Creed.

"Indeed, how's that?"

The old butler related the facts of the assault. "I took 'is bayonet
away from him," he ended; "he didn't frighten me."

"Is he out of his mind?" asked Hilary.

"I've no conscience of it," replied Creed. "His wife, she's gone the
wrong way to work with him, in my opinion, but that's particular to
women. She's a-goaded of him respecting a certain party. I don't say
but what that young girl's no better than what she ought to be; look at
her profession, and her a country girl, too! She must be what she
oughtn't to. But he ain't the sort o' man you can treat like that. You
can't get thorns from figs; you can't expect it from the lower orders.
They only give him a month, considerin' of him bein' wounded in the war.
It'd been more if they'd a-known he was a-hankerin' after that young
girl--a married man like him; don't ye think so, sir?"

Hilary's face had assumed its retired expression. 'I cannot go into that
with you,' it seemed to say.

Quick to see the change, Creed rose. "But I'm intrudin' on your dinner,"
he said--"your luncheon, I should say. The woman goes on irritatin' of
him, but he must expect of that, she bein' his wife. But what a
misfortune! He'll be back again in no time, and what'll happen then? It
won't improve him, shut up in one of them low prisons!" Then, raising
his old face to Hilary: "Oh dear! It's like awalkin' on a black night,
when ye can't see your 'and before yer."

Hilary was unable to find a suitable answer to this simile.

The impression made on him by the old butler's recital was queerly
twofold; his more fastidious side felt distinct relief that he had
severed connection with an episode capable of developments so sordid and
conspicuous. But all the side of him--and Hilary was a complicated
product--which felt compassion for the helpless, his suppressed chivalry,
in fact, had also received its fillip. The old butler's references to
the girl showed clearly how the hands of all men and women were against
her. She was that pariah, a young girl without property or friends,
spiritually soft, physically alluring.

To recomp