If she had had the slightest doubt about his attitude, his behaviour on the day of her arrival had made it stand out sharp and clear. She had dined at Moor Grange, and Caro Bickersteth had been there. Caro had insisted on dragging Jane's genius from its temporary oblivion, and Brodrick had turned silent and sulky, positively sulky then. And in that mood he had remained for the two weeks that she had stayed at Roehampton. He had betrayed none of the concern so evidently felt for her by Eddy and Winny and Gertrude Collett and Mrs. Heron and the doctor. They had all contended with each other in taking care of her, in waiting on her hand and foot. But Brodrick, after bringing her there; after, as she said, dumping her down, suddenly and heavily, on his family, Brodrick had refused to compete; he had hung back; he had withdrawn himself from the scene, maintaining his singular sulkiness and silence. She forgave him, for of course he was disturbed about Gertrude Collett. If he wanted to marry Gertrude, why on earth couldn't he marry her and have done with it? Jane thought. In order to think better she had closed her eyes. When she opened them again she found Brodrick seated in an opposite chair, quietly regarding her. She was alone with him. The others had all gone. "I wasn't asleep," said Jane. "I didn't suppose you were," said Brodrick; "if you were reading Prothero." Brodrick's conscience was beginning to hurt him rather badly. There were moments when he connected Jane's illness with Prothero's departure. He, therefore, by sending Prothero away, was responsible for her illness. "If you want to read," he said, "I'll go." "I don't want to read. I want to talk." "About Prothero?" "No, not about Mr. Prothero. About that serial----" "What serial?" "My serial. Your serial," said she. Brodrick said he wasn't going to talk shop on Sunday. He wanted to forget that there were such things as serials. "I wish _I_ could forget," said she. She checked the impulse that was urging her to say, "You really ought to marry Gertrude." "I wish you could," he retorted, with some bitterness. "How can I?" she replied placably, "when it was the foundation of our delightful friendship?" Brodrick said it had nothing whatever to do with their friendship. "Well," said Jane, "if it wasn't that it was Hambleby." At that Brodrick frowned so formidably that Jane could have cried out, "For goodness' sake go and marry her and leave off venting your bad temper upon me." "It had to be something," said she. "Why shouldn't it be Hambleby? By the way, George Tanqueray was perfectly right. I was in love with him. I mean, of course, with Hambleby." "You seem," said Brodrick, "to be in love with him still, as far as I can make out." "That's why," said Jane, "I can't help feeling that there's something wrong with him. George says you never really know the people you're in love with."