ad.
Rickie had not kept his wife in line. He had shown her all the workings
of his soul, mistaking this for love; and in consequence she was the
worse woman after two years of marriage, and he, on this morning of
freedom, was harder upon her than he need have been.

The spare room bell rang. Herbert had a painful struggle between
curiosity and duty, for the bell for chapel was ringing also, and he
must go through the drizzle to school. He promised to come up in the
interval, Rickie, who had rapped his head that Sunday on the edge of
the table, was still forbidden to work. Before him a quiet morning lay.
Secure of his victory, he took the portrait of their mother in his hand
and walked leisurely upstairs. The bell continued to ring.

"See about his breakfast," he called to Agnes, who replied, "Very well."
The handle of the spare room door was moving slowly. "I'm coming," he
cried. The handle was still. He unlocked and entered, his heart full of
charity.

But within stood a man who probably owned the world.

Rickie scarcely knew him; last night he had seemed so colorless, no
negligible. In a few hours he had recaptured motion and passion and the
imprint of the sunlight and the wind. He stood, not consciously heroic,
with arms that dangled from broad stooping shoulders, and feet that
played with a hassock on the carpet. But his hair was beautiful against
the grey sky, and his eyes, recalling the sky unclouded, shot past the
intruder as if to some worthier vision. So intent was their gaze that
Rickie himself glanced backwards, only to see the neat passage and the
banisters at the top of the stairs. Then the lips beat together twice,
and out burst a torrent of amazing words.

"Add it all up, and let me know how much. I'd sooner have died. It never
took me that way before. I must have broken pounds' worth. If you'll not
tell the police, I promise you shan't lose, Mr. Elliot, I swear. But it
may be months before I send it. Everything is to be new. You've not to
be a penny out of pocket, do you see? Do let me go, this once again."

"What's the trouble?" asked Rickie, as if they had been friends for
years. "My dear man, we've other things to talk about. Gracious me, what
a fuss! If you'd smashed the whole house I wouldn't mind, so long as you
came back."

"I'd sooner have died," gulped Stephen.

"You did nearly! It was I who caught you. Never mind yesterday's rag.
What can you manage for breakfast?"

The face grew mor