He had heard it, indeed. Sitting beside her there, he wondered what she would have thought if she had known that the little house in Chelsea, the full, ever-varying life she led, the very dress that brushed against him, were all purchased with his money. He wondered what she would have thought had she known that this husband of hers swept gaily along the pathway of life which Comethup cleared for him, coming without the faintest hesitation, again and again, to his cousin when former supplies were exhausted, never stopping for an instant to consider the justice or the injustice of the matter, but taking everything as his right, almost without thanks; whining about his hard lot, or railing at Fate, according as the mood was with him, yet living always at the fullest pressure, with not even a passing thought for the morrow. For one brief moment, perhaps, a perfectly natural thought flashed into his mind to tell her, to let her see clearly the shame of the thing, to understand what this man she loved really was. But the thought was gone almost before it had entered his mind, and he felt himself flushing angrily that it should ever have been there at all. Instead, he looked round at her, and answered her question. "Oh, yes, I've heard all about it, and I'm very glad for your sake. I suppose Brian is working very hard?" "Not very hard just now. He tells me that in his profession he has to look out always for fresh ideas, that unless he meets a great many people and sees a great many different phases of life he can't expect to give expression to the best that's in him. That's what he says; I dare say you know what he means." "Yes, I think I know what he means," said Comethup slowly. "I suppose one mustn't judge a poet by ordinary standards. You see, I'm such an idle dog, and I just manage to stroll through life in--in the sunshine, and so I don't quite understand what that other life--the life of a genius--means. By the way, I'm thinking of going down to see the captain; have you any message for him?" Her face was turned away; she did not answer for a moment. "What does he think of me?" she asked at last, in a low voice. "Nothing but the best, I can assure you," he replied. "You've always been, and always will be, his little 'Linda, the child he knew so many years ago. Why should he think badly of you?" "If you're quite sure--well, give him my love; say that I think of him often and often; that in moments when I am alone I dream that I am in his garden again, among the roses; that I am still a little child, with my arms about him. And say--say that I am quite, quite happy. Will you remember that?" "Every word," said Comethup. He felt he could not trust himself to say anything more, or even to look into her eyes again; he got up and said hurriedly and awkwardly that he supposed he should see her again, and so left her. The rooms were very full, and Brian was talking away to a new group as Comethup got out of the place and went into the street.