"My dear fellow," he said, putting out his hand and grasping Anthony's, "I'm ready to admit that I didn't stand by you as stoutly as you'd a right to expect, and I ask your pardon for it. If you knew the story of my life, for even red-faced old bachelors have stories, perhaps you'd see some sort of reason for my feeling about it. But then we none of us take what we don't see for granted." Anthony was utterly shamed and overcome. "Don't, don't!" he said, putting up his hand to his face, for he had a generous temper, quick to respond to kindness, and he felt now, somehow, as if he had been in the wrong throughout. Mr Robert went on in his kind grave voice,-- "Perhaps I'd no claim to it, but I wish you could have treated me as your friend, and let me know how matters stood exactly. You'll not be angry at my saying that I guess now what a painful position you were in. I'm not sure that you were right, mind you, but I am sure that not one man in twenty would have behaved as you did." He wrung his hand again, and went on. The two men understood each other at last; it is sometimes a little odd to think how a few minutes and a word or two will mend or mar enough for a lifetime. Things did not seem quite so sad to Anthony after that little interview. He would try to do what was right to Ada, to everybody. The bitterness which made him refuse to accept friendship, because it had disappointed him once, was gone; for he had been too blind himself to demand that others should see perfectly, and he felt as if he owed them all amends, if only for the sake of Winifred, whom he had so misjudged. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.