ouldn't conceive of himself now as married to
Althea, nor could he, in spite of Miss Grizel's demonstrations, conceive
of Helen as married to Franklin Kane. But with all the depths of his
heart he wished what he had done, done differently. And although he
couldn't conceive of Helen as married to Franklin Kane, although he
couldn't accept Miss Grizel's account of her state as final, nor believe
her really wrecked--since, after all, she loved him, not Franklin--he
could clearly conceive from Miss Grizel's words that by doing it as he
had, he had wrecked many things and endangered many. What these things
were her words only showed him confusedly, and his clearest impulse now
was to see just what they were, to see just what he had done. Miss
Grizel couldn't show him, for Miss Grizel didn't know the facts; Helen
would not show him, she refused to see him; his mind leaped at once, as
he rose and stood looking rather dazedly about before going, to Franklin
Kane. Kane, as he had said yesterday, was the one person in the world
before whom one could have such things out. Even though he had wrecked
Kane, Kane was still the only person he could turn to. And since he had
wrecked him in his ignorance he felt that now, in his enlightenment, he
owed him something infinitely delicate and infinitely deep in the way of
apology.

'Well, thank you,' he said, grasping Miss Grizel's hand. 'You had to say
it, and it had to be said. Good-bye.'

Miss Grizel, not displeased with his fashion of taking her chastisement,
returned his grasp. 'Yes,' she said, 'you couldn't go on as you were.
But all the same, I'm sorry for you.'

'Oh,' Gerald smiled a little. 'I don't suppose you've much left for me,
and no wonder.'

'Oh yes, I've plenty left for you,' said Miss Grizel. And, in thinking
over his expression as he had left her, the smile, its self-mockery, yet
its lack of bitterness, his courage, and yet the frankness of his
disarray, she felt that she liked Gerald more than she had ever liked
him.

CHAPTER XXXI.

'Why, yes, of course I can see you. Do sit down.' Franklin spoke
gravely, scanning his visitor's face while he moved piles of pamphlets
from a chair and pushed aside the books and papers spread before him on
the table.

Gerald had found him, after a fruitless morning call, at his lodgings in
Clarges Street, and Franklin, in the dim little sitting-room, had risen
from the work that, for hours, had given him a feeling of anchora