tably at the figure of Mr. Stone, which could be seen,
bowed, and utterly still, beside his desk; so, by lifting the spy-hole
thatch, one may see a convict in his cell stand gazing at his work,
without movement, numb with solitude.

'He's getting awfully broken up,' thought Stephen. 'Poor old chap! His
ideas are killing him. They're not human nature, never will be.' Again
he flicked his trousers with the letter, as though that document
emphasised the fact. 'I can't help being sorry for the sublime old
idiot!'

He rose, the better to see his father-in-law's unconscious figure. It
looked as lifeless and as cold as though Mr. Stone had followed some
thought below the ground, and left his body standing there to await his
return. Its appearance oppressed Stephen.

'You might set the house on fire,' he thought; 'he'd never notice.'

Mr. Stone's figure moved; the sound of along sigh came out to Stephen in
the windless garden. He turned his eyes away, with the sudden feeling
that it was not the thing to watch the old chap like this; then, getting
up, he went indoors. In his brother's study he stood turning over the
knick-knacks on the writing-table.

'I warned Hilary that he was burning his fingers,' he thought.

At the sound of the latch-key he went back to the hall.

However much he had secretly disapproved of her from the beginning,
because she had always seemed to him such an uncomfortable and
tantalising person, Stephen was impressed that night by the haunting
unhappiness of Bianca's face; as if it had been suddenly disclosed to him
that she could not help herself. This was disconcerting, being, in a
sense, a disorderly way of seeing things.

"You look tired, B.," he said. "I'm sorry, but I thought it better to
bring this round tonight."

Bianca glanced at the letter.

"It is to you," she said. "I don't wish to read it, thank you."

Stephen compressed his lips.

"But I wish you to hear it, please," he said. "I'll read it out, if
you'll allow me.
"'CHARING CROSS STATION.
"'DEAR STEVIE,

"'I told you yesterday morning that I was going abroad alone. Afterwards
I changed my mind--I meant to take her. I went to her lodgings for the
purpose. I have lived too long amongst sentiments for such a piece of
reality as that. Class has saved me; it has triumphed over my most
primitive instincts.

"'I am going alone--back to my sentiments. No slight has been placed on
Bianca--but my married life having b