Men were so wide apart from women; they were ruled by another code of morals. If this were a pity, it fell at least of their nature and their history. Was not this the prime lesson science had taught the world? But still the shame flickered up before him; he could watch its appearances more calmly, could reason and debate of it, but it was still impertinently persistent. And yet he was more certain of himself. To-morrow the discomfort would return, no doubt, but with enfeebled spirit; he would suffer a very proper remorse for some time—perhaps a week—and then the affair would dismiss itself, and his memory would own the dirty blot no longer. As the meal went forward his temper rose. He smiled upon his wife with less diffidence; he conversed with less effort. But strangely, as he mended, and the first horror of his guilt receded, he had a leaning to confession. Before, he had felt that pardon was impossible, but now that he was come within range of forgiving himself, he began to desire forgiveness from Letty also. The inclination was vague and formless, yet it moved him towards the subject in an aimless way. He found himself wondering, with a throb in his blood, how she would receive his admissions, and awoke with the tail of her last sentence in his ears.
"I'm so glad the servants have gone. I much prefer being alone with you, George."
"Yes," he murmured absently, "they're a nuisance, aren't they?"
She pushed the claret to him, and he filled his glass abstractedly. Should he tell her now, he was thinking, and let penitence and pardon crown a terrible day? At her next words he looked up, wondering.
"Had Mr. Fowler any news of Edward?" she asked idly.
The direction of her thoughts was his; he played with the
