CHAPTER LXIX

In all this his history had only repeated itself. When six years ago
he had turned his back on Rickman's he had made it inevitable that he
should turn his back on Jewdwine now. On each occasion his behaviour
had provoked the same melancholy admission, from Jewdwine--"He is
magnificent, but I can't afford him"; from Isaac Rickman--"I can't
afford to pay your price, my boy." The incredible thing was that
Jewdwine should have been brought to say it. Jewdwine was changed; but
Rickman was the same Rickman who had swung the shop door behind him,
unmoved by the separation from his salary.

But after all he could only keep half of that rash vow he had made to
himself on the way to Hampstead. He must give up the Editor of
_Metropolis_; but he could not give up Horace Jewdwine. It was not the
first time he had been compelled to admit the distinction which Maddox
for decency's sake had insisted on. When it came to the point, as now,
he found himself insisting on it with even greater emphasis than
Maddox. He knew that in his soul Jewdwine still loved and worshipped
what was admirable, that in his soul he would have given anything to
recall his injustice to young Paterson. But young Paterson was too
great to have need either of Jewdwine or of him. Young Paterson had
his genius to console him. His profounder pity was for the man who had
inflicted such awful injuries on himself; the great man who had made
himself mean; the spiritual person who had yielded to a material
tyranny; the incorruptible person who had sold his soul, who only
realized the value of his soul now that he had sold it.

And yet he knew that there could be nothing more sundering than such
meanness, such corruptibility as Jewdwine's. Their friendship could
never be the same. There was a certain relief in that. There could
never be any hypocrisy, any illusion in their relations now. And
nobody knew that better than Jewdwine. Well, the very fact that
Jewdwine had still desired and chosen that sad-hearted, clear-eyed
communion argued a certain greatness in him.

Therefore he resolved to spare him. It would cost him the friendship
of better men than he; but that could not be helped. They must
continue to think that he had sold or at any rate lent himself at
interest to Jewdwine. Honour debarred him from all explanation and
defence, an honour so private and personal that it must remain
unsuspected by the world. In the beginning he had made himself