“I can’t make out how this place pays,” said Mortimer, “there are never more than a handful of people here. I suppose it will suddenly become popular and then rapidly deteriorate. That’s the history of all these places. Meanwhile let us rejoice. We’ll have some Chianti, but will not drink it neat as do the barbarians, but judiciously tempered with Polly.” Lunch finished, coffee and cigars produced, Mortimer announced that he was ready to talk seriously. “What’s up?” he asked. “You shall have all the advice I can give and I shan’t be in the least hurt if you don’t follow any of it. Your mind’s sure to be made up already and you simply ask for advice in the hope that my view will be your view.” “No, I don’t, Fred. Not such an ass. I’m in a bad corner and I’m damned if I know how to get out of it. I don’t know whether you know that Mrs. Squire has a husband?” “I didn’t. I imagined the prefix to be entirely ceremonial.” “He’s a parson.” “The devil!” “Worse, a saint. He doesn’t believe in divorce and is obstinately determined to persecute Marian. He says he won’t leave a stone unturned to save her. Please laugh. There’s a comic side to it, I know, but it’s turned away from me.” “I know the type. I’ve met one or two of them,” said Mortimer, reflectively watching the smoke of his cigar; “I bet he’ll give you a deuced lot of trouble. Unreasonable people are most difficult to deal with, they never know how unreasonable they are. And a man who doesn’t play according to the rules—But, tell me all about it.” Maddison told him all that he knew of Squire and of Marian’s and his own meetings with him. “Beastly awkward!” was Mortimer’s comment. “You can pretty well guess I’m stumped,” said Maddison. “I don’t know what’s best to do.” “Excuse my asking, I must know all the facts of the case: you don’t want to break off with Mrs. Squire?” “No!” “All right! Don’t blaze up, we’re talking politics, not poetry. It’s not one of those cases in which you can sit still and let fate play your cards. The man will stick at nothing. Eventually he must meet her again, even if she doesn’t come to your place. He’ll haunt you. Perhaps catch you together in some public place and kick up—the saints’ own delight.” “Yes, yes, I can see all that. I know what I’ve got to face—but I don’t want to face it.” “I was mentally marking time. If I knew what to suggest I would have told you at once. Let’s be practical; there are three parties to the business: you—she—he. The question is how to avoid you and she, or, at any rate, you, being brought into contact with him. Could you both go away for a while?” “Easily.” “In a time you and she would be safe. What would he do? Hunt after you—find that you had left town——” “That’s all very well, but we can’t stay away forever.”