y was so tactful and resourceful that
she might safely be trusted to hush up the affair, to explain away the
equivocal position in which she had been found. After all, both of them
were known to be decent, God-fearing people. And one had only to look
at Mary to see that here was no light woman. Nobody in his senses--not
even Grindle--could think evil of that broad, transparent brow, of
those straight, kind, merry eyes.

No, this morning his hurt was a purely personal one. That it should
just be Purdy who did him this wrong! Purdy, playmate and henchman,
ally in how many a boyish enterprise, in the hardships and adventures
of later life. "Mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did
eat of my bread!" Never had he turned a deaf ear to Purdy's needs; he
had fed him and clothed him, caring for him as for a well-loved
brother. Surely few things were harder to bear than a blow in the dark
from one who stood thus deeply in your debt, on whose gratitude you
would have staked your head. It was, of course, conceivable that he had
been swept off his feet by Mary's vivid young beauty, by
over-indulgence, by the glamour of the moment. But if a man could not
restrain his impulses where the wife of his most intimate friend was
concerned ... Another thing: as long as Mary had remained an immature
slip of a girl, Purdy had not given her a thought. When, however, under
her husband's wing she had blossomed out into a lovely womanhood, of
which any man might be proud, then she had found favour in his eyes.
And the slight this put on Mary's sterling moral qualities, on all but
her physical charms, left the worst taste of any in the mouth.

Then, not content with trying to steal her love, Purdy had also sought
to poison her mind against him. How that rankled! For until now he had
hugged the belief that Purdy's opinion of him was coloured by affection
and respect, by the tradition of years. Whereas, from what Mary had let
fall, he saw that the boy must have been sitting in judgment on him,
regarding his peculiarities with an unloving eye, picking his motives
to pieces: it was like seeing the child of your loins, of your hopes,
your unsleeping care, turn and rend you with black ingratitude. Yes,
everything went to prove Purdy's unworthiness. Only HE had not seen it,
only he had been blind to the truth. And wrapped in this smug blindness
he had given his false friend the run of his home, setting, after the
custom of the country, no v