been
the temporary rapture. Coldly she had the knowledge that the considerate
withholding of it helped her spirit to escape a stain. Less coldly, she
thanked at heart her beloved, for being a gentleman in their yoke. It
plighted them over flesh.

He talked to her on the pillow, just a few sentences; and, unlike
himself, a word of City affairs: 'That fellow Blathenoy, with his
increasing multitude of bills at the Bank: must watch him there, sit
there regularly. One rather likes his wife. By the way, if you see him
near me to-morrow, praise the Spanish climate; don't forget. He heads
the subscription list of Lady Blachington's Charity.'

Victor chuckled at Colney's humping of shoulders and mouth, while
the tempest seemed echoing a sulphurous pessimist. 'If old Colney had
listened to me, when India gave proof of the metal and South Africa
began heaving, he'd have been a fairly wealthy man by now... ha! it
would have genialized him. A man may be a curmudgeon with money: the
rule is for him to cuddle himself and take a side, instead of dashing at
his countrymen all round and getting hated. Well, Colney popular, can't
be imagined; but entertaining guests would have diluted his acid. He
has the six hundred or so a year he started old bachelor on; add his
miserable pay for Essays. Literature! Of course, he sours. But don't
let me hear of bachelors moralists. There he sits at his Temple Chambers
hatching epigrams... pretends to have the office of critic! Honest old
fellow, as far as his condition permits. I tell him it will be fine
to-morrow.'

'You are generally right, dear,' Nataly said.

Her dropping breath was audible.

Victor smartly commended her to slumber, with heaven's blessing on her
and a dose of soft nursery prattle.

He squeezed her hand. He kissed her lips by day. She heard him sigh
settling himself into the breast of night for milk of sleep, like one of
the world's good children. She could have turned to him, to show him she
was in harmony with the holy night and loving world, but for the fear
founded on a knowledge of the man he was; it held her frozen to the
semblance of a tombstone lady beside her lord, in the aisle where horror
kindles pitchy blackness with its legions at one movement. Verily it was
the ghost of Mrs. Burman come to the bed, between them.

Meanwhile the sun of Victor Radnor's popularity was already up over the
extended circle likely to be drenched by a falsification of his daring
augur