However, he kept his surmises discreetly to himself, and puffed and pondered for a long time in silence. At last he spoke. “I would let her alone, and not bother my head about her, Laurence! She is bound to come back.” “I don’t think so,” responded the other, curtly. “Yes; she will return on account of the child.” “And what would such a coming-back be worth to _me_? It will not be for my sake,” said Wynne, holding his feelings under strong restraint. “I know of something that would bring her, like a shot out of a seventy-four pounder,” observed Mr. Jessop after another pause, surveying the coals meditatively as he spoke. “What?” “Your paying attention to another woman. Get up a strong and _remarkable_ flirtation with some pretty, smart society matron. Lots of them love your stories. Love me, love my stories. Love my stories, love me, eh? Show yourself in the park, at theatres--better still, a little dinner at the Savoy--and Mrs. Wynne will be on in the scene before you can say Jack Robinson! Jealousy will fetch her!” “I wouldn’t give a straw for the affection of a woman who was influenced solely by what you have suggested. No, no; I married her before she knew her own mind--before she had a chance of seeing other people, and the world. Now she has seen other people, and become acquainted with the world, she prefers both to _me_. On five or six hundred a year, with no rich relations, Madeline and I would have been happy enough. As it is, she is happy enough. I must get on alone as well as I can. I made a mistake. I was too hasty.” “Yes, marry in haste, and repent at leisure!” said Mr. Jessop, grimly. “I don’t mean that; I mean that I mulled that business at Mrs. Harper’s. I should have wired to Mrs. Wolferton, or insisted on Mrs. Harper taking Madeline back, and given her time to turn round and to reflect; but I rushed the whole thing. However, I must now abide by the position I am placed in with what fortitude I can.” “You married her, and gave her a home, when she had no friend,” put in Mr. Jessop, sharply. Mr. Jessop was devoted to Laurence, and excessively angry with Laurence’s wife. “It is not every one I would confide in, Dick,” said his companion; “but you are my oldest chum. You are welcome to be introduced to the skeleton in my cupboard--an old friend’s privilege. We need never talk of this again. I suppose people get over these things in time! There is nothing for it but work--plenty of work.” Although he discoursed in this cool, self-restrained manner, Mr. Jessop knew, by years of experience, that his friend--who never made much, or, indeed, any, fuss about his feelings--had felt the blow in every nerve of his body.