say.'

He spoke with a dull doggedness, as though mental fatigue did not allow
him to say more.

'It's impossible to argue against such a charge,' said Milvain. 'I am
convinced it isn't true, and that's all I can answer. But perhaps you
think this extraordinary influence of mine is still being used against
you?'

'I know nothing about it,' Reardon replied, in the same unmodulated
voice.

'Well, as I have told you, this was my first visit to Mrs Yule's since
your wife has been there, and I didn't see her; she isn't very well,
and keeps her room. I'm glad it happened so--that I didn't meet her.
Henceforth I shall keep away from the family altogether, so long, at all
events, as your wife remains with them. Of course I shan't tell anyone
why; that would be impossible. But you shan't have to fear that I am
decrying you. By Jove! an amiable figure you make of me!'

'I have said what I didn't wish to say, and what I oughtn't to have
said. You must misunderstand me; I can't help it.'

Reardon had been walking for hours, and was, in truth, exhausted.

He became mute. Jasper, whose misrepresentation was wilful, though not
maliciously so, also fell into silence; he did not believe that his
conversations with Amy had seriously affected the course of events,
but he knew that he had often said things to her in private which
would scarcely have fallen from his lips if her husband had been
present--little depreciatory phrases, wrong rather in tone than in
terms, which came of his irresistible desire to assume superiority
whenever it was possible. He, too, was weak, but with quite another
kind of weakness than Reardon's. His was the weakness of vanity, which
sometimes leads a man to commit treacheries of which he would believe
himself incapable. Self-accused, he took refuge in the pretence of
misconception, which again was a betrayal of littleness.

They drew near to Westbourne Park station.

'You are living a long way from here,' Jasper said, coldly. 'Are you
going by train?'

'No. You said my wife was ill?'

'Oh, not ill. At least, I didn't understand that it was anything
serious. Why don't you walk back to the house?'

'I must judge of my own affairs.'

'True; I beg your pardon. I take the train here, so I'll say
good-night.'

They nodded to each other, but did not shake hands.

A day or two later, Milvain wrote to Mrs Yule, and told her that he
had seen Reardon; he did not describe the circumstances under which t