At last all was settled. At the last moment an uneasy question rose in Maxwell's mind. "Ought _we_, at such a crisis, to be sending him away from his wife?" But he could not bring himself to put it, even lightly, into words, and as it happened Tressady did not leave him in doubt. "I am glad you caught me," he said nervously, in what seemed an awkward pause, while he looked for his hat, forgetting where he had put it. "I was intending to leave London to-night. But my business can very well wait till next week. Now I think I have everything." He gathered up a new Guide-Chaix that Maxwell had put into his hand, saw that the half-sheet of notes was safely stowed into his pocket-book, and took up his hat and stick. As he spoke, Maxwell had remembered the situation and Mrs. Allison's remark. No doubt Tressady had proposed to go north that night on a mission of explanation to his Market Malford constituents, and it struck one of the most scrupulous of men with an additional pang, that he should be thus helping to put private motives in the way of public duty. But what was done was done. And it seemed impossible that either should speak a word of politics. "I ought to say," said Tressady, pausing once more as they moved together towards the door, "that I have not ultimately much hope for Mrs. Allison. If this entanglement is put aside, there will be something else. Trouville itself, in August, I should imagine, is a place of _bonnes fortunes_ for the man who wants them, and Ancoats's mind runs to such things." He spoke with a curious eagerness, like one who pleads that his good-will shall not be judged by mere failure or success. Maxwell raised his shoulders. "Nothing that can happen will in the least affect our gratitude to _you_," he said gravely. "Gratitude!" muttered the young man under his breath. His lip trembled. He looked uncertainly at his companion. Maxwell did not offer his hand, yet as he opened the door for his visitor there was a quiet cordiality and kindness in his manner that made his renewed words of thanks sound like a strange music in Tressady's ears. * * * * * When the minister was once more alone he walked back to the window, and stood looking down thoughtfully on the gay pageant of the river. She was right--she was always right. There was nothing vile in that young fellow, and his face had a look of suffering it pained Maxwell to remember. Why had he personally not come to know him better? "I think too little of men, too much of machinery," he said to himself, despondently; "unconsciously I leave the dealing with human beings far too often to her, and then I wonder that a man sees and feels her as she is!" Yet as he stood there in the sunshine a feeling of moral relief stole upon him, the feeling that rewards a man who has tried to deal greatly with some common and personal strait. Some day, not yet, he would make Tressady his friend. He calmly felt it to be within his power.