, it would be divided up amongst them so that
they wouldn't any of them feel it."

Lapham stole a troubled glance at his wife, and saw that there was no
help in her. Whether she was daunted and confused in her own
conscience by the outcome, so evil and disastrous, of the reparation to
Rogers which she had forced her husband to make, or whether her
perceptions had been blunted and darkened by the appeals which Rogers
had now used, it would be difficult to say. Probably there was a
mixture of both causes in the effect which her husband felt in her, and
from which he turned, girding himself anew, to Rogers.

"I have no wish to recur to the past," continued Rogers, with growing
superiority. "You have shown a proper spirit in regard to that, and
you have done what you could to wipe it out."

"I should think I had," said Lapham. "I've used up about a hundred and
fifty thousand dollars trying."

"Some of my enterprises," Rogers admitted, "have been unfortunate,
seemingly; but I have hopes that they will yet turn out well--in time.
I can't understand why you should be so mindful of others now, when you
showed so little regard for me then. I had come to your aid at a time
when you needed help, and when you got on your feet you kicked me out
of the business. I don't complain, but that is the fact; and I had to
begin again, after I had supposed myself settled in life, and establish
myself elsewhere."

Lapham glanced again at his wife; her head had fallen; he could see
that she was so rooted in her old remorse for that questionable act of
his, amply and more than fully atoned for since, that she was helpless,
now in the crucial moment, when he had the utmost need of her insight.
He had counted upon her; he perceived now that when he had thought it
was for him alone to decide, he had counted upon her just spirit to
stay his own in its struggle to be just. He had not forgotten how she
held out against him only a little while ago, when he asked her whether
he might not rightfully sell in some such contingency as this; and it
was not now that she said or even looked anything in favour of Rogers,
but that she was silent against him, which dismayed Lapham. He
swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, the self-pity, the pity for
her, the despair, and said gently, "I guess you better go to bed,
Persis. It's pretty late."

She turned towards the door, when Rogers said, with the obvious
intention of detaining her through he