ugh he were
comparing in his mind Jenny's account of Powers, my opinion of Powers,
and his own impression of the man. He seemed to me to give more thought
to Powers than I should have expected from him; a rude and contemptuous
dismissal would have been Powers's more probable fate at his hands.

"Are you going to clear out for the Institute?" I asked.

"I shall be out of this house in less than a year, anyhow. That's
settled."

"Oh, then your negotiations have been very satisfactory! You had a right
to stay here two years."

"The present state of affairs can't drag on for two years," he said,
looking at me steadily. His ostensible reference might be to his
uncomfortable relations toward his neighbors; I was sure that he meant
more than that--and did not mind letting me see it. A restlessness
betrayed itself in his movements; he seemed to be on the edge of an
outbreak and to hold himself back with a struggle. His victory was very
imperfect: he could not keep off the subject which perturbed him; he
could only contrive to treat it with a show of lightness and contempt.
The subject had been in my thoughts already.

"Seeing much of our friend Fillingford just now at the Priory?"

"He comes a certain amount. I don't see much of him."

"And that sets fools gossiping, I suppose?"

"Need you ask me, Octon? I fancy you've heard something for yourself."

He rubbed his big hands together, giving a laugh which sounded rather
uneasy under its cloak of amusement.

"It won't be much trouble to her to make a fool of Fillingford--he's a
conceited ass. She'll use him as long as she wants him, and then--!" He
snapped his fingers scornfully.

Had he struck on that explanation for himself? Possibly--he had studied
Jenny. Yet it sounded rather like an inspired version of her policy. The
weak spot about it was that, by now, Jenny could have little need of
Fillingford--except in one capacity. As her husband he could give her a
good deal; he could offer her no obvious advantages in any other
relation. I wondered that this did not occur to Octon--and then decided
that it did. He knew that the argument was weak; he hoped that I would
afford it the buttress of my confirmatory opinion.

"Well?" he growled impatiently, for I said nothing.

"I didn't understand that you asked me a question--and, if you had, I
shouldn't have answered it. It's no business of mine to consider how
Miss Driver treats Fillingford or means to treat him."

At