But if he kept it, used it, owed salvation to it--what would that mean? The question bewildered him. He could not make out what that would mean as regarded either himself or Caylesham or Christine--least of all what it would mean as regarded Christine. He was duly conscious that the act would be in some sort a condonation. A condonation going how far? Imposing what attitude and what course of conduct on him? How far would it condition his bearing towards Caylesham, how far affect his estimate of himself? Above all, how far dictate his relations to Christine? He knew very well what would come of destroying the cheque or of sending it back. He could not reason out what he would stand committed to if he kept and used it. Ah, this horrible question could not have arisen, either, if he had known of the thing at the time. It was fearful to be told of it now. "It's a terrible situation for a man to be placed in--terrible!" he said aloud. The thought flashed across his mind that he could pretend not to know. He could give Lady Harriet a caution; he could tell her he attached no importance to her words; she would take the hint and be glad. Caylesham would suspect nothing. He could keep the cheque. And Christine? Could he make that pretence to Christine? He was sitting shrunk low into his chair, the cheque still in his fingers, when the door opened softly, and Christine came in. She had heard him open and close the front door, and had wondered why he did not come upstairs. His delay, taken with his staying out all the evening, made her ask whether anything had happened. She was in a white dressing-gown, which she had thrown on when she got out of bed, and little slippers of white fur. She looked very small, very dainty, very childish; her hair was like a child's too, brushed smoothly away from the forehead. "Why, John, what's kept you so late? And what are you doing here?" She came some steps towards him, before she saw what it was that he held in his hand. Then she smiled, saying: "You're gloating over that cheque, you foolish man!" He raised dull slow eyes to her. "Yes, I've got it here," he muttered. Christine walked to the rug; his table was on one side of the fireplace, and she was within five or six feet of him. "What are you doing with it?" she asked, with an impatient ring in her voice. She did not enjoy the sight of the cheque, and had hoped to be able by degrees to forget it. "It's dated for Monday. I ought to pay it in in the morning." "Well, why not? Of course you'll pay it in." A sudden hope rose in her. "Nothing's occurred to make it unnecessary?" He shook his head heavily, and laid the paper down on the table. "No, nothing," he said, and then his eyes rested on her again. "John, aren't you well?" she asked.