arrel. Though it was a
strong instance, yet it was hardly more than a typical instance of their
quarrels--of the constant clashing of his way against hers--of the play
between her rapier and his club. If their intimacy went on, they might
have worse quarrels that. For me the significance of the evening lay not
in another proof that Jenny, while saving her pride and scoring her
formal victory, would still not let him go--and perhaps would go far to
keep him; that was an old story, or, at least, a bit of discernment of
her now months old; rather it lay in Octon's account of his own
disposition toward her proceedings--in his puzzle whether he were glad
or sorry to be "kicked out"--in that fear of himself and of his
self-restraint which made him relieved to go, even while his face was
wrung with the pain of going. In view of that, I felt that I also should
have been relieved if he had really gone--gone not to return--not to
submit himself again to the variety of Jenny's ways--to the quick
flashing alternation of her weapons, natural, conventional, casual, or
whatsoever they might be. He was right about himself--he was not the man
for that treatment. He could not appreciate the artistic excellence of
it; he felt, even if he deserved, its cruelty. Moreover, it might prove
dangerous. What if he beat down the natural weapons--and ignored the
rest? One thing at least was clear; he would not again tell me--or even
pretend to me--that her power was "all flim-flam."

She came back in half an hour, at a leisurely pace, looking much pleased
with herself.

I was smoking on the steps by the hall door.

"That's all right," she assured me with a cheerful smile. "We're quite
friends, and he's not going to be such a bear any more--if he can help
it, which, Mr. Austin, I doubt."

"How did you manage it?" I asked--not that there was much real need of
inquiry.

"Of course I told him that the Institute was nothing but an idea, and
that, even if it were built, its being at Hatcham Ford was the merest
idea, and that, even if it had to be at Hatcham Ford--well, I pointed
out that two years are two years--(You needn't take the trouble to nod
about that--it was quite a sensible remark)--that two years are two
years and that very likely he wouldn't want the house at all by then."

"I see."

"So, of course, he apologized for his rudeness and promised not to be so
foolish again, and we said good night quite friends. What have you been
thinkin