ough I had meant to interrupt him.
"Still another. Something worse. I need not tell you what it is," he
added with grim meaning.

"Certainly. You needn't--unless you like," I said blankly. Little Fyne
had never interested me so much since the beginning of the de
Barral-Anthony affair when I first perceived possibilities in him. The
possibilities of dull men are exciting because when they happen they
suggest legendary cases of "possession," not exactly by the devil but,
anyhow, by a strange spirit.

"I told him it was a shame," said Fyne. "Even if the girl did make eyes
at him--but I think with you that she did not. Yes! A shame to take
advantage of a girl's distress--a girl that does not love him in the
least."

"You think it's so bad as that?" I said. "Because you know I don't."

"What can you think about it," he retorted on me with a solemn stare.
"I go by her letter to my wife."

"Ah! that famous letter. But you haven't actually read it," I said.

"No, but my wife told me. Of course it was a most improper sort of
letter to write considering the circumstances. It pained Mrs Fyne to
discover how thoroughly she had been misunderstood. But what is written
is not all. It's what my wife could read between the lines. She says
that the girl is really terrified at heart."

"She had not much in life to give her any very special courage for it,
or any great confidence in mankind. That's very true. But this seems
an exaggeration."

"I should like to know what reasons you have to say that," asked Fyne
with offended solemnity. "I really don't see any. But I had sufficient
authority to tell my brother-in-law that if he thought he was going to
do something chivalrous and fine he was mistaken. I can see very well
that he will do everything she asks him to do--but, all the same, it is
rather a pitiless transaction."

For a moment I felt it might be so. Fyne caught sight of an approaching
tram-car and stepped out on the road to meet it. "Have you a more
compassionate scheme ready?" I called after him. He made no answer,
clambered on to the rear platform, and only then looked back. We
exchanged a perfunctory wave of the hand. We also looked at each other,
he rather angrily, I fancy, and I with wonder. I may also mention that
it was for the last time. From that day I never set eyes on the Fynes.
As usual the unexpected happened to me. It had nothing to do with Flora
de Barral. The fact is that I