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“Thank you,” he said, with perfect simplicity. “But you know I can’t tell when I shall be able to pay you.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” I gave him a ten-dollar note which I had loose in my pocket; it was one that my wife had told me to get changed at the grocery near the station, and I had walked off to the old temple, or the old cockpit, and forgotten about it.

Tedham took the note, but he said, holding it in his hand, “I would a million times rather you would let me go home with you and see Mrs. March a moment.”

“I can’t do that, Tedham,” I answered, not unkindly, I hope. “I know what you mean, and I assure you that it wouldn’t be the least use. It’s because I feel so sure that my wife wouldn’t like my going to see Mrs. Hasketh, that I–“

“Yes, I know that,” said Tedham. “That is the reason why I should like to see Mrs. March. I believe that if I could see her, I could convince her.”

“She wouldn’t see you, my dear fellow,” said I, strangely finding myself on these caressing terms with him. “She entirely approved of what I did, the letter I wrote you, but I don’t believe she will ever feel just as I do about it. Women are different, you know.”

“Yes,” he said, drawing a long, quivering breath.

We stood there, helpless to part. He did not offer to leave me, and I could not find it in my heart to abandon him. After a most painful time, he drew another long breath, and asked, “Would you be willing to let me take the chances?”

“Why, Tedham,” I began, weakly; and upon that he began walking with me again.

III.

I went to my wife’s room, after I reached the house, and faced her with considerable trepidation. I had to begin rather far off, but I certainly began in a way to lead up to the fact. “Isabel,” I said, “Tedham is out at last.” I had it on my tongue to say poor Tedham, but I suppressed the qualification in actual speech as likely to prove unavailing, or worse.

“Is that what kept you!” she demanded, instantly. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” I admitted. I added, “Though I am afraid I was rather late, anyway.”

“I knew it was he, the moment you spoke,” she said, rising on the lounge where she had been lying, and sitting up on it; with the book she had been reading shut on her thumb, she faced me across the table where her lamp stood. “I had a presentiment when the children said there was some strange-looking man here, asking for you, and that they had told him where to find you. I couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy about it. What did he want with you, Basil?”

“Well, he wanted to know where his daughter was.”

“You didn’t tell him!”

“I didn’t know. Then he wanted me to go to Mrs. Hasketh and find out.”

“You didn’t say you would?”

“I said most decidedly I wouldn’t,” I returned, and I recalled my severity to Tedham in refusing his prayer with more satisfaction than it had given me at the time. “I told him that I had no business to interfere, and that I was not sure it would be right even for me to meddle with the course things had taken.” I was aware of weakening my case as I went on; I had better left her with a dramatic conception of a downright and relentless refusal.

“I don’t see why you felt called upon to make excuses to him, Basil. His impudence in coming to you, of all men, is perfectly intolerable. I suppose it was that sentimental letter you wrote him.”

“You didn’t think it sentimental at the time, my dear. You approved of it.”

“I didn’t approve of it, Basil; but if you felt so strongly that you ought to do it, I felt that I ought to let you. I have never interfered with your sense of duty, and I never will. But I am glad that you didn’t feel it your duty to that wretch to go and make more trouble on his account. He has made quite enough already; and it wasn’t his fault that you were not tried and convicted in his place.”