"You seem to be in bad odor, Maurice," the latter ventured.
"In more ways than one. Where, in heaven's name, did you
resurrect that pipe?"
"In the stables. It isn't the pipe, it's the tobacco. I had to
break up some cigars."
Then came another period in the conversation. It occurred to
both that something yawned between them--a kind of abyss. Out of
this abyss one saw his guilt arise. . . . A woman stood at his
side. He had an accomplice. He had thrown the die, and he would
stand stubbornly to it. His pride built yet another wall around
him, impregnable either to protests or to sneers. He loved--
that was recompense enough. A man will forgive himself of grave
sins when these are debtors to his love.
As for the other, he beheld a trust betrayed, and he was
powerless to prevent it. Besides, his self-love smarted, chagrin
made eyes at him; and, more than all else, he recognized his own
share in the Englishman's fall from grace. It had been innocent
mischief on his part, true, but nevertheless he stood culpable.
He had no business to talk to a woman he did not know. The more
he studied the aspects of the situation the more whimsical it
grew.
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