He shifted in his chair; struck a match; raised it part way to his cigar and let it flicker out. Without looking at me he answered, “We shan’t gain anything by quarreling over who’s to blame. We’ve got her into a mess between us--it’s up to us to get her out.” “But you didn’t----” He flung out his arm in irritation. “Don’t waste words. I married her when she was too young to know what marriage meant; I loved her and supposed that nothing else mattered. That’s my share. You made love to my wife and followed her to Sheba. That’s yours. We’ve got her into a mess between us, and we’ve got to get her out.” He waited for me to make a suggestion; I was too much taken aback. We couldn’t get her out; we could only help her to endure it. We both knew that--so why discuss it? Turning his head and staring hard at me, he continued, “There’s only one thing to be considered--_her happiness_.” “Perhaps she’ll forget when I’m gone,” I ventured. “She won’t and you know it.” He barked the words. His manner was losing its air of tired patience. “See here, Cardover, you and I have got to get down to facts. We don’t help one another by fooling ourselves. You went out of her life for a year; she didn’t forget. It’s different now; you’ve been with her in this house and everything will remind her of you. What are we going to do about it?” He repeated his question harshly, as though demanding an instant answer. What could I tell him? He broke the miserable silence. “Ever since you talked of leaving, I’ve been studying this thing out. I knew we’d have to face it, and yet somehow I hoped---- Never mind what I hoped. So you’ve nothing to say? You can’t guess what I’m driving at?” I shook my head. His face became haggard and stern; only the twitching of the eye-lids betrayed his nervousness. “I’d give anything to see Vi happy. So would you--isn’t that correct?” He darted a challenging look in my direction. “I’d give all I possess, I say, factories, banks, good name, popularity. She’s more to me than anything in the world.” Then reluctantly forcing himself to speak the words, “There’s only one way out--only one way to make her happy.” He leant forward, clutching my knee. “You must have her.” I drew back from him amazed, startled out of my self-possession. There was something so horribly commonsense about his offer; I could not take him seriously for the moment. He was tempting me, perhaps, in order that he might find out just how far Vi and I had gone together--he might easily suspect that things had happened during that summer at Ransby which had not been confessed.