"Well, say, Glenn," he said; "I'm awfully sorry, honest I am. I remember now, come to think of it, that Wade did say something like that, and maybe I said something to lead you to think I'd do it; I don't say I didn't--I don't just remember. But I reckon you've banked more on what Wade told you than on what I did. Course, I reckon I didn't turn you down--a feller never does that in a campaign, you know. But Wade takes a lot o' things for granted in this life." He smiled indulgently, as if Powell's weaknesses were commonly known and understood. "I reckon you relied too much on what Wade told you," Carman went on. His right eye was fixed on Marley, but Marley did not return the look. He had turned half-way round and thrown his arm over the back of his chair. He looked out the window, his eyes vacant and sad. He was thinking of Lavinia, of their hopes and plans, of the little home that had become almost a reality to them; the trees in the Court-House yard held their gaunt limbs helplessly up against the cold December day; the ugly clouds were hurrying desperately across the sky; he thought of the little law office across the street, with the dusty law books lying on the table, and the hopelessness of it all overwhelmed him. But there beside him Carman still was speaking: "It's like Wade," he was saying. "I'm sorry, derned if I hain't." Marley scarcely heard him. He was looking ahead. How many years-- "He hadn't ought to of done it," Carman was going on; "no, sir, he hadn't ought." How many years, Marley was thinking, would they have to wait now? Would Lavinia be lost with all the rest? Ought he to ask her to wait any longer? But Carman kept on: "I've got all my arrangements made now, you see." He swept his arm about the office where the few clerks were bending over the big records in which they were copying the pleadings they could not understand. Marley did not see; he saw nothing but the ruin of all his hopes. It was still in there; the atmosphere held the musty odor of a public office; the clock ticked; once a stamping machine clicked sharply as a clerk marked a filing date on some document. And then a great disgust overwhelmed him, a disgust with himself for being so fatuous, so credulous. He had taken so much for granted, he had acted as a child, not as a man, and he felt a hatred for himself, he felt almost like striking himself. "I guess I've been a fool," he said suddenly, rising from his chair. "No, you haven't neither," said Carman, "but Wade Powell has; he had no business--" Marley did not wait to hear Carman finish his sentence. Shame and mortification were the final aspects of his defeat; he put on his hat, drew it down over his eyes and stalked away. Carman looked at him as he disappeared through the lofty door. The pupil of his right eye widened as he looked, and when Glenn had passed from his sight he turned to his desk, and began to rearrange the tools to which he was so unaccustomed.