I have done. I have
had no choice.'

'I might; but we have both of us too little practicality. The art
of living is the art of compromise. We have no right to foster
sensibilities, and conduct ourselves as if the world allowed of ideal
relations; it leads to misery for others as well as ourselves. Genial
coarseness is what it behoves men like you and me to cultivate. Your
reply to your wife's last letter was preposterous. You ought to have
gone to her of your own accord as soon as ever you heard she was
rich; she would have thanked you for such common-sense disregard of
delicacies. Let there be an end of this nonsense, I implore you!'

Reardon stared through the glass at the snow that fell thicker and
thicker.

'What are we--you and I?' pursued the other. 'We have no belief in
immortality; we are convinced that this life is all; we know that human
happiness is the origin and end of all moral considerations. What
right have we to make ourselves and others miserable for the sake of an
obstinate idealism? It is our duty to make the best of circumstances.
Why will you go cutting your loaf with a razor when you have a
serviceable bread-knife?'

Still Reardon did not speak. The cab rolled on almost silently.

'You love your wife, and this summons she sends is proof that her
thought turns to you as soon as she is in distress.'

'Perhaps she only thought it her duty to let the child's father know--'

'Perhaps--perhaps--perhaps!' cried Biffen, contemptuously. 'There goes
the razor again! Take the plain, human construction of what happens. Ask
yourself what the vulgar man would do, and do likewise; that's the only
safe rule for you.'

They were both hoarse with too much talking, and for the last half of
the drive neither spoke.

At the railway-station they ate and drank together, but with poor
pretence of appetite. As long as possible they kept within the warmed
rooms. Reardon was pale, and had anxious, restless eyes; he could not
remain seated, though when he had walked about for a few minutes the
trembling of his limbs obliged him to sink down. It was an unutterable
relief to both when the moment of the train's starting approached.

They clasped hands warmly, and exchanged a few last requests and
promises.

'Forgive my plain speech, old fellow,' said Biffen. 'Go and be happy!'

Then he stood alone on the platform, watching the red light on the last
carriage as the train whirled away into darkness and storm.