illings? How could he have pretended to do
literary work in such cramped quarters, he who had never been able to
write a line save in strict seclusion? In his despair he had faced the
impossible. Amy had shown more wisdom, though in a spirit of unkindness.

Towards ten o'clock he was leaving the flat to go and find people who
would purchase his books and old clothing and other superfluities; but
before he could close the door behind him, an approaching step on
the stairs caught his attention. He saw the shining silk hat of a
well-equipped gentleman. It was John Yule.

'Ha! Good-morning!' John exclaimed, looking up. 'A minute or two and I
should have been too late, I see.'

He spoke in quite a friendly way, and, on reaching the landing, shook
hands.

'Are you obliged to go at once? Or could I have a word with you?'

'Come in.'

They entered the study, which was in some disorder; Reardon made no
reference to circumstances, but offered a chair, and seated himself.

'Have a cigarette?' said Yule, holding out a box of them.

'No, thank you; I don't smoke so early.'

'Then I'll light one myself; it always makes talk easier to me. You're
on the point of moving, I suppose?'

'Yes, I am.'

Reardon tried to speak in quite a simple way, with no admission of
embarrassment. He was not successful, and to his visitor the tone seemed
rather offensive.

'I suppose you'll let Amy know your new address?'

'Certainly. Why should I conceal it?'

'No, no; I didn't mean to suggest that. But you might be taking it for
granted that--that the rupture was final, I thought.'

There had never been any intimacy between these two men. Reardon
regarded his wife's brother as rather snobbish and disagreeably selfish;
John Yule looked upon the novelist as a prig, and now of late as
a shuffling, untrustworthy fellow. It appeared to John that his
brother-in-law was assuming a manner wholly unjustifiable, and he had a
difficulty in behaving to him with courtesy. Reardon, on the other hand,
felt injured by the turn his visitor's remarks were taking, and began to
resent the visit altogether.

'I take nothing for granted,' he said coldly. 'But I'm afraid nothing is
to be gained by a discussion of our difficulties. The time for that is
over.

'I can't quite see that. It seems to me that the time has just come.'

'Please tell me, to begin with, do you come on Amy's behalf?'

'In a way, yes. She hasn't sent me, but my mother and I are so