He gave an abridged account of the conversation, which made matters a
little clearer, though by no means less uncomfortable, to Wallace. When
it was over, they were nearing Vigo Street, the point at which their
routes diverged, Wallace having rooms in the Albany, and Kendal hailed a
hansom.

'If I were you,' he said, as it came up, 'I should, as I said before, let
the thing alone as much as possible. She will probably speak to you about
it, and you will, of course, say what you like, but I'm pretty sure she
won't take up the play again, and if she feels a coolness towards
anybody, it won't be towards you.'

'There's small consolation in that!' exclaimed Wallace.

'Anyhow, make the best of it, my dear fellow,' said Kendal, as though
determined to strike a lighter key. 'Don't be so dismal, things will look
differently to-morrow morning--they generally do--there's no tremendous
harm done. I'm sorry I didn't do your bidding better. Honestly, when I
come to think over it, I don't see how I could have done otherwise. But
I don't expect you to think so.'

Wallace laughed, protested, and they parted.

A few moments later Kendal let himself into his rooms, where lights were
burning, and threw himself into his reading-chair, beside which his books
and papers stood ready to his hand. Generally, nothing gave him a greater
sense of _bien-être_ than this nightly return, after a day spent in
society, to these silent and faithful companions of his life. He was
accustomed to feel the atmosphere of his room when he came back to it