it was intentional or casual. Of course she had been free and, appreciably perhaps, by his own act; for was not St. George's allusion to her having liked him a part of the irony too? "I thought that by your theory you disapproved of a writer's marrying."
"Surely—surely. But you don't call me a writer?"
"You ought to be ashamed," said Paul.
"Ashamed of marrying again?"
"I won't say that—but ashamed of your reasons."
"You must let me judge of them, my friend."
"Yes; why not? For you judged wonderfully of mine."
The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for Henry St. George, to suggest the unsuspected. He stared as if he read a bitterness in them. "Don't you think I have acted fair?"
"You might have told me at the time, perhaps."
"My dear fellow, when I say I couldn't pierce futurity!"
"I mean afterwards."
St. George hesitated. "After my wife's death?"
"When this idea came to you."
"Ah, never, never! I wanted to save you, rare and precious as you are."
"Are you marrying Miss Fancourt to save me?"
"Not absolutely, but it adds to the pleasure. I shall be the making of you," said St. George, smiling. "I was greatly struck, after our talk, with the resolute way you quitted the country and still more, perhaps, with your force of character in remaining abroad. You're very strong—you're wonderfully strong."
Paul Overt tried to sound his pleasant eyes; the strange thing was that he appeared sincere—not a mocking fiend. He turned away, and as he did so he heard St. George say something about his giving them the proof,