These lines met his eye one day in a new volume which bore the name of George Meredith, and they touched him nearly; the poem they closed gave utterance to the manful resignation of one who has passed the age of love, yet is tempted by love's sweetness, and John Jacks took to heart the reproach it seemed to level at himself. Putting aside the point of years, he had not chosen with any discretion; he married a handsome face, a graceful figure, just as any raw boy might have done. His wife, he suspected, was not the woman to suffer greatly in her false position; she had very temperate blood, and a thoroughly English devotion to the proprieties; none the less he had done her wrong, for she belonged to a gentle family in mediocre circumstances, and his prospective "M.P.," his solid wealth, were sore temptations to put before such a girl. He had known--yes, he assuredly knew--that it was nothing but a socially sanctioned purchase. Beauty should have become to him but the "vein of rose," to be regarded with gentle admiration and with reverence, from afar. He yielded to an unworthy temptation, and, being a man of unusual sensitiveness, very soon paid the penalty in self-contempt. He could not love his wife; he could scarce honour her--for she too must consciously have sinned against the highest law. Her irreproachable behaviour only saddened him. Now that he found himself under sentence of death, his solace was the thought that his widow would still be young enough to redeem her error--if she were capable of redeeming it. Alone with his guest in the large dining-room, and compelled to make only pretence of eating and drinking, he talked of many things with the old spontaneity, the accustomed liberal kindliness, and dropped at length upon the subject Piers was waiting for. "You know, I daresay, that Arnold is going to marry?" "I have heard of it," Piers answered, with the best smile he could command. "You can imagine it pleases me. I don't see how he could have been luckier. Dr. Derwent is one of the finest men I know, and his daughter is worthy of him." "She is, I am sure," said Piers, in a balanced voice, which sounded mere civility. And when silence had lasted rather too long, the host having fallen into reverie, he added: "Will it take place soon?" "Ah--the wedding? About Christmas, I think. Arnold is looking for a house. By the bye, you know young Derwent--Eustace?" Piers answered that he had only the slightest acquaintance with the young man. "Not brilliant, I think," said Mr. Jacks musingly. "But amiable, straight. I don't know that he'll do much at the Bar." Again he lost himself for a little, his knitted brows seeming to indicate an anxious thought. "Now you shall tell me anything you care to, about business," said the host, when they had seated themselves in the library. "And after that I have something to show you--something you'll like to see, I think."