when I have taken the position, and let her ask me to take her
back--if she wishes.'

'You have changed a great deal this last year,' replied Biffen, shaking
his head, 'a great deal. I hope to see you your old self again before
long. I should have declared it impossible for you to become so rugged.
Go and see your wife, there's a good fellow.'

'No; I shall write to her.'

'Go and see her, I beg you! No good ever came of letter-writing between
two people who have misunderstood each other. Go to Westbourne Park
to-morrow. And be reasonable; be more than reasonable. The happiness
of your life depends on what you do now. Be content to forget whatever
wrong has been done you. To think that a man should need persuading to
win back such a wife!'

In truth, there needed little persuasion. Perverseness, one of the forms
or issues of self-pity, made him strive against his desire, and caused
him to adopt a tone of acerbity in excess of what he felt; but already
he had made up his mind to see Amy. Even if this excuse had not
presented itself he must very soon have yielded to the longing for
a sight of his wife's face which day by day increased among all the
conflicting passions of which he was the victim. A month or two ago,
when the summer sunshine made his confinement to the streets a daily
torture, he convinced himself that there remained in him no trace of his
love for Amy; there were moments when he thought of her with repugnance,
as a cold, selfish woman, who had feigned affection when it seemed her
interest to do so, but brutally declared her true self when there was
no longer anything to be hoped from him. That was the self-deception of
misery. Love, even passion, was still alive in the depths of his being;
the animation with which he sped to his friend as soon as a new hope had
risen was the best proof of his feeling.

He went home and wrote to Amy.

'I have a reason for wishing to see you. Will you have the kindness to
appoint an hour on Sunday morning when I can speak with you in private?
It must be understood that I shall see no one else.'

She would receive this by the first post to-morrow, Saturday, and
doubtless would let him hear in reply some time in the afternoon.
Impatience allowed him little sleep, and the next day was a long
weariness of waiting. The evening he would have to spend at the
hospital; if there came no reply before the time of his leaving home, he
knew not how he should compel himself to t