The callousness of Panoukian! The effrontery! That he should dare to show his face, and such an unabashed, innocent face! Where was that conscience which makes cowards of us all? . . . At any rate, thought Old Mole, after being kicked Panoukian would not venture to appear again. But was that so sure? Was it so certain that his unpremeditated act of violence would jolt Panoukian's conscience into activity? Having swallowed the indignity of his position, would he not the more easily be able to digest affront and insult and humiliation? How if the kick had not settled the affair Panoukian? From his own uneasiness and almost shame Old Mole knew that it had not, that possibly it might have only the effect of crystallizing the change of relation between himself and Panoukian, of obliterating the tie of affection, of equalizing matters, of slackening the rein on Panoukian, of releasing him from every other claim upon his affection, except the violent outpouring of love which had swept him into disregard for convention, and honor, and the cause of morality. If there be degradation in violence, it affects the kicker as well as the kicked. Old Mole found himself very near understanding Panoukian. Clearly he had come to the chambers on an impulse. Matilda had desired a dog, he had seen the very dog, and come racing with it. Encountering Old Mole for the first time since the eruption in their affairs, he had carried the scene through with an admirable candor. There was no shiftiness in him, nor slyness: that would have been horrible, the sure indication of a beastly intrigue. No: either Panoukian was so possessed by his emotions, by the joy of what was probably his first full affair of the heart, that he could give no thought either to his own position or Matilda's or her husband's; either that or he was so intent on his passion, so absorbed by it, as to be lifted beyond scruples or thought of impediment, and was tearing away like a bolting horse, regardless of the cart behind or the cart's occupants. In either case Old Mole felt that he had something definite to deal with, genuine feeling and no farded copy of it. And he felt sorry for the kick and wished he could withdraw it. The very next day Panoukian came to dinner at half-past six. Matilda brought him. They had met by chance in the Strand, and she had persuaded him to come back with her.