f a squalid wretch
amid the dainty furniture. The door opened. Amy, in a simple but very
becoming dress, approached to within a yard of him; after the first
glance she had averted her eyes, and she did not offer to shake hands.
He saw that his muddy and shapeless boots drew her attention.

'Do you know why I have come?' he asked.

He meant the tone to be conciliatory, but he could not command his
voice, and it sounded rough, hostile.

'I think so,' Amy answered, seating herself gracefully. She would have
spoken with less dignity but for that accent of his.

'The Carters have told you?'

'Yes; I have heard about it.'

There was no promise in her manner. She kept her face turned away, and
Reardon saw its beautiful profile, hard and cold as though in marble.

'It doesn't interest you at all?'

'I am glad to hear that a better prospect offers for you.'

He did not sit down, and was holding his rusty hat behind his back.

'You speak as if it in no way concerned yourself. Is that what you wish
me to understand?'

'Won't it be better if you tell me why you have come here? As you are
resolved to find offence in whatever I say, I prefer to keep silence.
Please to let me know why you have asked to see me.'

Reardon turned abruptly as if to leave her, but checked himself at a
little distance.

Both had come to this meeting prepared for a renewal of amity, but in
these first few moments each was so disagreeably impressed by the look
and language of the other that a revulsion of feeling undid all the more
hopeful effects of their long severance. On entering, Amy had meant to
offer her hand, but the unexpected meanness of Reardon's aspect shocked
and restrained her. All but every woman would have experienced that
shrinking from the livery of poverty. Amy had but to reflect, and she
understood that her husband could in no wise help this shabbiness;
when he parted from her his wardrobe was already in a long-suffering
condition, and how was he to have purchased new garments since then?
None the less such attire degraded him in her eyes; it symbolised the
melancholy decline which he had suffered intellectually. On Reardon his
wife's elegance had the same repellent effect, though this would not
have been the case but for the expression of her countenance. Had it
been possible for them to remain together during the first five minutes
without exchange of words, sympathies might have prevailed on both
sides; the first speech