so late. Come!'

'So early. There goes three o'clock.'

The next day they talked much of this new project. As there was sunshine
Amy accompanied her husband for his walk in the afternoon; it was long
since they had been out together. An open carriage that passed, followed
by two young girls on horseback, gave a familiar direction to Reardon's
thoughts.

'If one were as rich as those people! They pass so close to us; they see
us, and we see them; but the distance between is infinity. They don't
belong to the same world as we poor wretches. They see everything in a
different light; they have powers which would seem supernatural if we
were suddenly endowed with them.'

'Of course,' assented his companion with a sigh.

'Just fancy, if one got up in the morning with the thought that no
reasonable desire that occurred to one throughout the day need remain
ungratified! And that it would be the same, any day and every day, to
the end of one's life! Look at those houses; every detail, within and
without, luxurious. To have such a home as that!'

'And they are empty creatures who live there.'

'They do live, Amy, at all events. Whatever may be their faculties, they
all have free scope. I have often stood staring at houses like these
until I couldn't believe that the people owning them were mere human
beings like myself. The power of money is so hard to realise; one who
has never had it marvels at the completeness with which it transforms
every detail of life. Compare what we call our home with that of rich
people; it moves one to scornful laughter. I have no sympathy with the
stoical point of view; between wealth and poverty is just the difference
between the whole man and the maimed. If my lower limbs are paralysed
I may still be able to think, but then there is such a thing in life as
walking. As a poor devil I may live nobly; but one happens to be made
with faculties of enjoyment, and those have to fall into atrophy. To be
sure, most rich people don't understand their happiness; if they did,
they would move and talk like gods--which indeed they are.'

Amy's brow was shadowed. A wise man, in Reardon's position, would not
have chosen this subject to dilate upon.

'The difference,' he went on, 'between the man with money and the man
without is simply this: the one thinks, "How shall I use my life?" and
the other, "How shall I keep myself alive?" A physiologist ought to be
able to discover some curious distinction betwee