ain for him; for I've not
forgotten what you told me yesterday of his service with Lady John. To
have to work in such a way for two of them at once"--it couldn't help, I
admitted, being a tax on a fellow. Besides, when one came to think of
it, the same man couldn't be _two_ red herrings. To show as Mrs.
Server's would directly impair his power to show as Lady John's. It
would seem, in short, a matter for his patronesses to have out together.

Mrs. Brissenden betrayed, on this, some annoyance at my levity. "Oh, the
cases are not the same, for with Lady John it amuses him: he thinks he
knows."

"Knows what?"

"What she wants him for. He doesn't know"--she kept it wonderfully
clear--"that she really doesn't want him for anything; for anything
except, of course"--this came as a droll second thought--"himself."

"And he doesn't know, either"--I tried to remain at her level--"that
Mrs. Server does."

"No," she assented, "he doesn't know what it's her idea to do with
him."

"He doesn't know, in fine," I cheerfully pursued, "the truth about
anything. And of course, by your agreement with me, he's not to learn
it."

She recognised her agreement with me, yet looked as if she had reserved
a certain measure of freedom. Then she handsomely gave up even that. "I
certainly don't want him to become conscious."

"It's his unconsciousness," I declared, "that saves him."

"Yes, even from himself."

"We must accordingly feed it." In the house, with intention, we parted
company; but there was something that, before this, I felt it due to my
claim of consistency to bring out. "It wasn't, at all events, Gilbert
Long behind the tree!"

My triumph, however, beneath the sponge she was prepared to pass again
over much of our experience, was short-lived. "Of course it wasn't. We
shouldn't have been treated to the scene if it _had_ been. What could
she possibly have put poor Briss there for but just to show it wasn't?"

VI

I saw other things, many things, after this, but I had already so much
matter for reflection that I saw them almost in spite of myself. The
difficulty with me was in the momentum already acquired by the act--as
well as, doubtless, by the general habit--of observation. I remember
indeed that on separating from Mrs. Brissenden I took a lively resolve
to get rid of my ridiculous obsession. It was absurd to have consented
to such immersion, intellectually speaking, in the affairs of other
people. One had al