“But of course you didn’t create it! You mustn’t think such a thing! I’m sorry, Gloss; I know that was a silly and useless thing to say.”

“It’s very sweet of you to have such belief in me. Of course I, as I exist at this moment, didn’t create it. But I was a very different person then. I wished her dead, or myself dead, time and time again. And you see, so much of my life has been devoted to making myself into a person who couldn’t possibly have created that accident, who couldn’t possibly have done that murder. And if you think the red gown of a Doctor of Laws wouldn’t be a help in that, you haven’t understood what a very inferior creature I am, and how much apparently small things can mean to me.”

“But, my dear, a red gown can’t change your own opinion of yourself. The man you live with, and feed and wash and dress and go to bed with doesn’t wear a red gown. He’s the man that counts. Oh, Gloss darling, you must stop torturing yourself. What’s the good of winning honours and the good opinion of the world if you can’t live on good terms with yourself?”

“Do you know anybody who isn’t a fool who really lives on good terms with himself?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“I shouldn’t have married her, but I did. Very well. Having married her, I should have borne it better, shown more restraint, and more kindness. But I didn’t. Can I forget that, or forgive myself?”

“But it’s done and past repair. Now, Gloss, you must listen to me.”

It would be of little avail to set down in detail what Mrs Fielding said to Ridley. None of it was extraordinarily wise, or uncommonly deep, but it was all rooted fast in love and womanly tenderness. Nor would it be truthful to say that Ridley was set free from his bugbear forever. But his burden was so much lightened, and confession had so cleansed him, that he was very much changed, very much cheered, and when at last Mr Fielding came home Ridley greeted him with a warmth of affection that surprised that gentleman, old friends as they were.

When at last Ridley set out for home, his step was light, and he felt free and vigorous. If only, he thought, I had had the good luck to marry somebody like Elspeth. But that was fruitless speculation, and he had learned that night how profitless, how diminishing, fruitless speculation can be. At fifty he was perhaps rather old to be coming to such conclusions, but we all subscribe thoughtlessly to many beliefs, the truth of which does not strike home to us until experience gives them reality. Wisdom may be rented, so to speak, on the experience of other people, but we buy it at an inordinate price before we make it our own forever.

“If I could hold fast to this state of mind I am in now, I might at last be free,” thought Ridley exultantly.

When he went into the vestibule of the old mansion in which his apartment was, he found a figure huddled on the floor, partly asleep. It started up, and revealed itself as Henry Rumball.

“I’ve been waiting for you sir,” said he. “I’ve found X.”

He held out his hand. In it was a pink slip for a Bellman classified advertisement.

Mrs Edith Little had completed her self-imposed nightly task of marking the typographical errors in The Bellman and was knitting on a sweater for little Earl. It was a complicated pattern, designed to make the finished garment look as though it had been made from heavy cable, and she was often compelled to consult her pattern book, from the page of which smiled the photograph of an offensively neat and handsome little boy, wearing the sweater in question. The Morphews’ living-room presented a peaceful domestic scene. Mrs. Morphew was painting her toenails coral pink, having spent an agreeable hour rubbing the hair from her legs with a pad of fine emery paper. The radio had been discoursing music, comic repartee, news and advertising all evening but neither Ede nor Kitten had paid any attention to it. They were lost in their thoughts. But when an announcer said that it was, at that very instant, eleven o’clock, Ede spoke to her sister censoriously.

“You’d better stop that. The boys’ll be home soon.”

“What of it? I got a whole ‘nother foot still to do.”

“D’you want them to catch you at it?”

“Why not? Georgie knows I do it. Georgie likes it.”

“What about Bev?”

“Bev’s an old sport. He’d like it.”

“It isn’t right for men to know what women do.”

“If you’d let Bob Little know a little more what you did, maybe he wouldn’t’ve run out on you.”

“That is one hell of a thing to say.”

“Yeah, ain’t it though!”

“Yes, it is! If I wanted to throw my legs around I could get men to look at me too. The way George looks at you sometimes, it makes me creep!”

“I’ll bet it does.”

“All right, if you’re proud of that kind of thing.”

“George is still living right here with me, and glad to, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And so he ought. You’re a wonderful housekeeper. I give you that.”

“That’s only part of what I am.”

“Oh, you both of you make so much of that! Still, it hasn’t brought you any children.”

“Ede, that’s a dirty, lousy thing to say, even between sisters!”

“Well, who threw Bob Little up to me a minute ago? I may not have a husband, but I’ve got my child, and I’d a lot sooner it was that way than the other way.” And Ede knitted ostentatiously.

“You’re a liar but I forgive you,” said Kitten good-naturedly. “Listen, why don’t you start looking around?”

“I’m not interested, thank you very much.”

“Well then, get interested. Earl’s going to need a daddy. If you don’t think much of George, get a man of your own to bring up the boy.”

“I can manage Earl without any man.”

“All right. Go on wishing old Baldy Ridley would take a tumble to you. And I’ll bet you wouldn’t wait for any ring if he did either.”

“That’s a fine thing to say about your own flesh and blood.”

“Ede, you got more refinement than sense; that’s what’s wrong with you.”

“I’ve got a child to think of; I can’t just let myself go.”

“Oh, so I’ve let myself go, have I? I can get into clothes you can’t even touch.”

“I meant mentally. Living with George you’ve just sunk to his level. You’ve just become George’s Thing, if you want to know what I really think! Just his Thing!”

Kitten was unable to reply to this, for she had thrown herself backward in her chair and was kicking her feet vigorously in the air in order to dry her nail-varnish. It was at this moment that the front door opened and George and Mr Higgin walked in, followed by a stranger.

“Looka there!” shouted George, and seizing one of his wife’s feet he nipped her playfully on the big toe with his front teeth. “What I always say, kid, you’re good enough to eat!”

“Georgie, lemme down! Georgie!” squealed Kitten, and after a great deal of bare leg and frilly panties had been displayed, and after George had pretended to strum on her leg as upon a guitar, he did let her down, and she made a great show of modesty, tucking her feet up under her.

“What a pleasant homecoming,” said Mr Higgin, laughing delightedly, his bright eyes missing nothing of Kitten’s display. “You would have been proud of George, Kitten, indeed you would. He was quite the hit of the smoker, wasn’t he, Mr Rumball?”

“Uh-huh,” said Rumball, without much enthusiasm.

“Meet m’friend Henry Rumball,” said George; “Hank, meet the wife. Meet Ede. Siddown. Getcha drink.”

“Don’t bother, Mr Morphew,” said Rumball. “I’ll have to go in just a minute, anyway.”

“Hank’s a reporter,” said George. “Gonna write us all up in The Bellman, aintcha, Henry?”

“I can’t promise anything,” said Rumball. “I only dropped in to see Mr Higgin; Mr Shillito insisted that I should. It wasn’t a regular assignment, you know. I only came to see if there was anything about Mr Higgin I might work up into a feature story. There won’t be any report of the smoker.”