---'

On the eve of his marriage day he stood in the dismantled rooms, at
once joyful and heavy at heart. His books were hidden in a score of
packing-cases, labelled, ready to be sent away. In spite of open
windows, the air was still charged with dust; since the packing began,
everyone concerned in it had choked and coughed incessantly; on the
bare floor, footsteps were impressed in a thick flocky deposit. These
rooms could have vied with any in London for supremacy of filthiness.
Yet here he had known hours of still contentment; here he had sat with
friends congenial, and heard the walls echo their hearty laughter; here
he had felt at home--here his youth had died.

Where all else was doubtful, speculative, contingent, that one thing he
certainly knew; he was no longer a young man. The years had passed like
a shadow, unnoted, uncounted, and had brought him to this point of
pause, of change momentous, when he must needs look before and after.
In all likelihood much more than half his life was gone. His mother did
not see her thirtieth year; his father died at little over forty; his
grandparents were not long-lived; what chance had he of walking the
earth for more than half the term already behind him? Did the life of
every man speed by so mockingly? Yesterday a school-boy;
tomorrow--'Rolfe? you don't say so? Poor old fellow!'

And he was going to be married. Incredible, laughter-moving, but a
fact. No more the result of deliberate purpose than any other change
that had come about in his life, than the flight of years and the
vanishment of youth. Fate so willed it, and here he stood.

Someone climbed the stairs, breaking upon his reverie. It was Buncombe,
who smiled through a settled gloom.

'All done? I shan't be much longer here myself. House too big for me.'

'Ah! it is rather large.'

'I'm thinking of changes.--You know something about my
affairs.--Yes--changes----'

Rolfe had never seen the man so dismal before; he tried to inspirit
him, but with small result.

'It's the kids that bother me,' said Buncombe. Then he dropped his
voice, and brought his head nearer.

'You're going to get married.' His eyes glinted darkly. 'I'm--going to
get divorced.'

And with a grim nod the man moved away.

Part the Second

CHAPTER 1

A morning of April, more than two years after his marriage, found
Harvey Rolfe in good health and very tolerable spirits. As his wont
was, he came down at half-past eight