Mr. Bommaney was alone again, and if it had not been for the actual presence of the bundle of bank-notes upon the table, he could well have thought that the whole episode had been no more than a dreadful and disturbing dream. It was very hard, he thought complainingly, that a man should come and put so horrible a temptation in his way. He would not yield to it--of course he would not yield to it. He had been an honest and honourable man all his life long, and had never so much as felt a monetary temptation until now. It was humiliating to feel it now--it was horrible to have his fingers itching for another man’s money, and his heart coveting it, and his brain, in spite of himself, devising countless means of use for it. It was quite unbearable to know that the money _might_ tide him over his troubles and land him in prosperity again, if he could only dare to use it, and risk engulfing it with the lost wreckage of his own fortunes. But no, no, no. He had never meant to use it. His only reason for accepting it had been that he had not found the courage to declare his true position to his old friend and school companion. Perhaps, he told himself (trying to silence and cajole that inward monitor and accuser who would not be silenced or cajoled), perhaps if Brown had been less confident and truthful--if he had had less faith in his old companion’s powers as a man of business--it would have come easier to tell the truth. And how futile a thing it was to stave off discovery for a single day! How doubly ashamed he would have to feel after that poor pretence of responsible solidity! If he had only been disposed to be tempted at all--here surely was an added reason for yielding to temptation. Obviously the first, and, indeed, the only thing to be done, was to bank this money in Brown’s name, and so have done with it; and yet any feeling of haste in that respect would seem to imply a fear of temptation, which he was, of course, quite resolute not to feel. He was not going any more to run away from his own suspicion of himself than he would have run from another man’s. So, in and out, and up and down, contradicting himself at every turning, with an underlying surety in his mind so fast rooted and so dreadful that he did not dare to look at it.