"Wouldn't you rather that I went instead?" "You are wanted; I am not."

That ice-cold, ice-clear remark contained the pith of the whole matter;
and Hilary said:

"You are not going at once?"

"At the end of the week, I think."

Noting his eyes fixed on her, she added:

"Yes; we're neither of us looking quite our best."

"I am sorry."

"I know you are."

This had been all. It had been sufficient to bring Hilary once more face
to face with the situation.

Its constituent elements remained the same; relative values had much
changed. The temptations of St. Anthony were becoming more poignant
every hour. He had no "principles" to pit against them: he had merely
the inveterate distaste for hurting anybody, and a feeling that if he
yielded to his inclination he would be faced ultimately with a worse
situation than ever. It was not possible for him to look at the position
as Mr. Purcey might have done, if his wife had withdrawn from him and a
girl had put herself in his way. Neither hesitation because of the
defenceless position of the girl, nor hesitation because of his own
future with her, would have troubled Mr. Purcey. He--good man--in his
straightforward way, would have only thought about the present--not,
indeed, intending to have a future with a young person of that class.
Consideration for a wife who had withdrawn from the society of Mr. Purcey
would also naturally have been absent from the equation. That Hilary
worried over all these questions was the mark of his 'fin de sieclism.'
And in the meantime the facts demanded a decision.

He had not spoken to this girl since the day of the baby's funeral, but
in that long look from the garden he had in effect said: 'You are drawing
me to the only sort of union possible to us!' And she in effect had
answered: 'Do what you like with me!'

There were other facts, too, to be reckoned with. Hughs would be
released to-morrow; the little model would not stop her visits unless
forced to; Mr. Stone could not well do without her; Bianca had in effect
declared that she was being driven out of her own house. It was this
situation which Hilary, seated beneath the bust of Socrates, turned over
and over in his mind. Long and painful reflection brought him back
continually to the thought that he himself, and not Bianca, had better go
away. He was extremely bitter and contemptuous towards himself that he
had not done so long ago. He made use of the names Martin had