likeness to Bernard."

"Am I like Bernard?" said Lawrence, startled.

"That's a good joke, isn't it?" said Clowes. "But my wife is
right. If I were not paralysed, we should be a good bit alike."

Under the casual manner, it was in that moment that Hyde saw his
cousin for what he was: a rebel in agony. There was a tragedy at
Wanhope then, Lucian Selincourt had not exaggerated. Though
Lawrence was not naturally sympathetic, he felt an unpleasant
twinge of pity, much the same as when his dog was run over in the
street: a pain in the region of the heart, as well defined as
rheumatism. In Sally's case, after convincing himself that she
would never get on her legs again, he had eased it by carrying
her to the nearest chemist's: the loving little thing had licked
his hand with her last breath, but when the brightness faded out
of her brown eyes, in his quality of Epicurean, Lawrence had not
let himself grieve over her. Unluckily one could not pay a
chemist to put Bernard Clowes out of his pain! "This is going to
be deuced uncomfortable," was the reflection that crossed his
mind in its naked selfishness. "I wish I had never come near the
place. I'll get away as soon as I can."

Then he saw that Bernard was struggling to turn over on his side,
flapping about with his slow uncouth gestures like a bird with a
broken wing. "Let me--!" Laura's "No, Lawrence!" came too late.
Hyde had taken the cripple in his arms, lifting him like a child:
"You're light for your height," he said softly. He was as strong
as Barry and as gentle as Val Stafford. Laura had turned
perfectly white. She fully expected Clowes to strike his cousin.
She could hardly believe her eyes when with a great gasp of
relief he flung his arm round Hyde's neck and lay back on Hyde's
shoulder. "Thanks, that's damned comfortable--first easy moment
I've had since last night," he murmured: then, to Laura, "we must
persuade this fellow to stop on a bit. You're not in a hurry to
get off, are you, Lawrence?"

"Not I. I'll stay as long as you and Laura care to keep me."

"I and Laura, hey?"

Bernard's flush faded: he slipped from Hyde's arm.

"H'm, yes, you're old friends, aren't you? Met at Farringay?
I'd forgotten that." He shut his eyes. "And Laura's dying to
renew the intimacy. It's dull for her down here. Take him into
the garden, Lally. You'll excuse me now, Lawrence, I can't talk
long without getting fagged. Wretched state of things, isn't it?