erefore Riviere had no quarrel with the shipowner on the ground
of what he was now witnessing. His desire to crumple Larssen in the
hollow of his hand and fling him into the mud at his feet was based on
very different grounds.

On the other hand, Olive must believe Matheson to be alive. Larssen
would have told her that her husband was away in Canada on business for
a few weeks, and he would keep up the fiction until the Hudson Bay
scheme were floated to a public issue.

That Riviere could watch the scene pictured before him without
stirring--could watch in silence the spectacle of his wife's infatuation
for another man--might seem superficially as the height of cynical
cold-bloodedness. Yet nothing could be farther from the truth. Riviere
was a man of very deep and very strong feelings held habitually under a
rigid control. Self-control is very often mistaken superficially for
cold-bloodedness, just as heartiness is mistaken for big-heartedness.

He was balanced enough to hold no blame for Olive. Within two years of
marriage he had plumbed her to the depths. It was not in her to be more
than a reckless spender of other people's money and other people's
lives. She was born to waste just as another is born to create. The way
in which she was throwing herself at Larssen during his absence for a
few weeks was typical of her inborn character, which nothing could
uproot.

It was clear beyond doubt that Olive did not want him back. She
preferred him out of her way. If he could disappear for ever, leaving
his fortune in her hands, she would unquestionably be glad of it. What
he had in fact brought about by taking up the personality of John
Riviere was what she seemed most to desire.

He was coming home as an intruder. Even in his own house there would be
no welcome for him. _He was not wanted._

There was a sudden stiffening on the part of Olive, as though she heard
someone about to enter the room. Sir Francis came in, shook hands
cordially with Larssen, and all three made their way to dinner.

Riviere was left looking into an empty room. With sudden decision he
made his way out of the grounds of Thornton Chase. He would see the
shipowner to-morrow in his office at Leadenhall Street rather than
thrash out the coming quarrel in front of Olive and Sir Francis.

His duty lay in taking up once more the role of Clifford Matheson and
returning to Olive's side. Though what he had seen that evening made the
duty trebly distast