with
which he had contrived to put Flamel in possession of the two points
most damaging to his case: the fact that he had been a friend of
Margaret Aubyn's, and that he had concealed from Alexa his share in the
publication of the letters. To a man of less than Flamel's astuteness
it must now be clear to whom the letters were addressed; and the
possibility once suggested, nothing could be easier than to confirm it
by discreet research. An impulse of self-accusal drove Glennard to the
window. Why not anticipate betrayal by telling his wife the truth in
Flamel's presence? If the man had a drop of decent feeling in him, such
a course would be the surest means of securing his silence; and above
all, it would rid Glennard of the necessity of defending himself against
the perpetual criticism of his wife's belief in him....

The impulse was strong enough to carry him to the window; but there
a reaction of defiance set in. What had he done, after all, to need
defence and explanation? Both Dresham and Flamel had, in his hearing,
declared the publication of the letters to be not only justifiable but
obligatory; and if the disinterestedness of Flamel's verdict might be
questioned, Dresham's at least represented the impartial view of the
man of letters. As to Alexa's words, they were simply the conventional
utterance of the "nice" woman on a question already decided for her by
other "nice" women. She had said the proper thing as mechanically as she
would have put on the appropriate gown or written the correct form of
dinner-invitation. Glennard had small faith in the abstract judgments
of the other sex; he knew that half the women who were horrified by
the publication of Mrs. Aubyn's letters would have betrayed her secrets
without a scruple.

The sudden lowering of his emotional pitch brought a proportionate
relief. He told himself that now the worst was over and things would
fall into perspective again. His wife and Flamel had turned to other
topics, and coming out on the veranda, he handed the cigars to Flamel,
saying, cheerfully--and yet he could have sworn they were the last words
he meant to utter!--"Look here, old man, before you go down to Newport
you must come out and spend a few days with us--mustn't he, Alexa?"

VIII

Glennard had, perhaps unconsciously, counted on the continuance of this
easier mood. He had always taken pride in a certain robustness of fibre
that enabled him to harden himself against the inevi