ed
when the train had gone. As he hurried from the platform he puzzled
over it. He could hold no clue, but he knew that their friendship had
changed a little. He was sorry.

As he turned down the station road he decided that life was becoming
very complicated. There was first his father; that oughtn't in the
nature of things to have complicated matters at all--but it was
complicated, because there was no knowing what a man like that would
do. He might let the family down so badly; it was almost like having
gunpowder in your cellar. Randal had thought him absurd. Robin saw
that clearly, and Randal's opinion was that of all truly sensible
people. But, after all, the real complication was the Feverel affair.
It was now nearly ten days since that terrible evening and nothing had
happened. Robin wasn't sure what _could_ have happened, but he had
expected something. He had waited for a note; she would most assuredly
write and her letter would serve as a hint, he would know how to act;
but there had been no sign. On the day following the interview he had
felt, for the most part, relief. He was suddenly aware of the burden
that the affair had been, he was a free man; but with this there had
been compunction. He had acted like a brute; he was surprised that he
could have been so hard, and he was a little ashamed of meeting the
public gaze. If people only realised, he thought, what a cad he was,
they would assuredly have nothing to do with him. As the days passed,
this feeling increased and he was extremely uncomfortable. He had
never before doubted that he was a very decent fellow--nothing,
perhaps, exceptional in any way, but, judged by every standard, he
passed muster. Now he wasn't so sure, he had done something that he
would have entirely condemned in another man, and this showed him
plainly and most painfully the importance that he placed on the other
man's opinion. He was beginning to grow his crop of ideas and he was
already afraid of the probable harvest.

That his affection for Dahlia was dead there could be no question, but
that it was buried, either for himself or the public, was, most
unfortunately, not the case. He was afraid of discovery for the first
time in his life, and it was unpleasant. Dahlia herself would be
quiet; at least, he was almost sure, although her outbreak the other
evening had surprised him. But he was afraid of Mrs. Feverel. He felt
now that she had never liked him; he saw