gave, in his swift passage, a last clutch. 'You consent to let him think you———?'
'He thinks me what he finds me!' said Mrs. Chilver.
Braddle got up from the sofa, looking about for his hat and stick; but by the time he had reached the door with them he rose again to the surface. 'I, too, then, am to leave him his idea———?'
'Well, of what?' she demanded as he faltered.
'Of your—whatever you called it.'
'I called it nothing. You relieved me of the question of the name.'
He gloomily shook his head. 'You see to what end! Chilver, at any rate,' he said, 'has his view, and to that extent has a name for it.'
'Only to the extent of having the one you gave him.'
'Well, what I gave him he took!' Braddle, with returning spirit, declared. 'What I suggested—God forgive me!—he believed.'
'Yes—that he might make his sacrifice. You speak,' said Mrs. Chilver, 'of his idea. His sacrifice is his idea. And his idea,' she added, 'is his happiness.'
'His sacrifice of your reputation?'
'Well—to whom?'
'To me,' said Bertram Braddle. 'Do you expect me now to permit that?'
Mrs. Chilver serenely enough considered. 'I shall protect his happiness, which is above all his vision of his own attitude, and I don't see how you can prevent this save by breaking your oath.'
'Oh, my oath!' And he prolonged the groan of his resentment.
It evidently—what he felt—made her sorry for him, and she spoke in all kindness. 'It's only your punishment!' she sighed after him as he departed.
