astonished at what is happening that it was necessary for one or other
of us to see you.'

'I think it is all between Amy and myself.'

'Difficulties between husband and wife are generally best left to
the people themselves, I know. But the fact is, there are peculiar
circumstances in the present case. It can't be necessary for me to
explain further.'

Reardon could find no suitable words of reply. He understood what Yule
referred to, and began to feel the full extent of his humiliation.

'You mean, of course--' he began; but his tongue failed him.

'Well, we should really like to know how long it is proposed that Amy
shall remain with her mother.'

John was perfectly self-possessed; it took much to disturb his
equanimity. He smoked his cigarette, which was in an amber mouthpiece,
and seemed to enjoy its flavour. Reardon found himself observing the
perfection of the young man's boots and trousers.

'That depends entirely on my wife herself;' he replied mechanically.

'How so?'

'I offer her the best home I can.'

Reardon felt himself a poor, pitiful creature, and hated the
well-dressed man who made him feel so.

'But really, Reardon,' began the other, uncrossing and recrossing his
legs, 'do you tell me in seriousness that you expect Amy to live in such
lodgings as you can afford on a pound a week?'

'I don't. I said that I had offered her the best home I could. I know
it's impossible, of course.'

Either he must speak thus, or break into senseless wrath. It was hard to
hold back the angry words that were on his lips, but he succeeded, and
he was glad he had done so.

'Then it doesn't depend on Amy,' said John.

'I suppose not.'

'You see no reason, then, why she shouldn't live as at present for an
indefinite time?'

To John, whose perspicacity was not remarkable, Reardon's changed
tone conveyed simply an impression of bland impudence. He eyed his
brother-in-law rather haughtily.

'I can only say,' returned the other, who was become wearily
indifferent, 'that as soon as I can afford a decent home I shall give my
wife the opportunity of returning to me.'

'But, pray, when is that likely to be?'

John had passed the bounds; his manner was too frankly contemptuous.

'I see no right you have to examine me in this fashion,' Reardon
exclaimed. 'With Mrs Yule I should have done my best to be patient if
she had asked these questions; but you are not justified in putting
them, at all events not in this