ake a great name, this was grievous
disappointment to Amy, but this alone would not have estranged her. It
was the dread and shame of penury that made her heart cold to him. And
he could not in his conscience scorn her for being thus affected by the
vulgar circumstances of life; only a few supreme natures stand unshaken
under such a trial, and though his love of Amy was still passionate, he
knew that her place was among a certain class of women, and not on the
isolated pinnacle where he had at first visioned her. It was entirely
natural that she shrank at the test of squalid suffering. A little
money, and he could have rested secure in her love, for then he would
have been able to keep ever before her the best qualities of his heart
and brain. Upon him, too, penury had its debasing effect; as he now
presented himself he was not a man to be admired or loved. It was all
simple and intelligible enough--a situation that would be misread only
by shallow idealism.

Worst of all, she was attracted by Jasper Milvain's energy and promise
of success. He had no ignoble suspicions of Amy, but it was impossible
for him not to see that she habitually contrasted the young journalist,
who laughingly made his way among men, with her grave, dispirited
husband, who was not even capable of holding such position as he had
gained. She enjoyed Milvain's conversation, it put her into a good
humour; she liked him personally, and there could be no doubt that she
had observed a jealous tendency in Reardon's attitude to his former
friend--always a harmful suggestion to a woman. Formerly she had
appreciated her husband's superiority; she had smiled at Milvain's
commoner stamp of mind and character. But tedious repetition of failure
had outwearied her, and now she saw Milvain in the sunshine of progress,
dwelt upon the worldly advantages of gifts and a temperament such as
his. Again, simple and intelligible enough.

Living apart from her husband, she could not be expected to forswear
society, and doubtless she would see Milvain pretty often. He called
occasionally at Mrs Yule's, and would not do so less often when he knew
that Amy was to be met there. There would be chance encounters like that
of yesterday, of which she had chosen to keep silence.

A dark fear began to shadow him. In yielding thus passively to stress of
circumstances, was he not exposing his wife to a danger which outweighed
all the ills of poverty? As one to whom she was inestima