And he walked away, making one or two notes in a little book he held in
his hand as to the cheque that Molly should find waiting for her next
day.

Molly, left alone on the bench, did not at the first moment dwell on the
thought of how far this talk with her host would affect her own plans.
She could only think of the man himself. She had been for many weeks in
his house, and had never done more than "exchange the weather" with him,
or occasionally suffer gladly the little jokes and puns to which he was
addicted. She had written to Miss Carew that his attitude towards Adela
and herself was that of a busy man towards his nursery. Since that how
little she had thought about him! And now she felt the strength in him,
not weakened, but lit up with a kind of pathos. He might have been a
true friend to any man or woman. He was really fond of Adela Delaport
Green, and that position in itself was tragic enough. It was plain to
Molly, although nothing had been breathed on the subject that morning,
that Tim would not find it hard to forgive his Adela. Adela would pass
almost scot-free from well-merited punishment; and yet her husband was
strong enough to have punished effectively where he deemed it necessary.
Molly was puzzled because she was without a clue to the mystery. The
fact was that Tim had no wish to punish effectively. As long as Adela
passed untouched by one sin, as long as he felt sure of one great virtue
in her life, all such details as much gambling, much selfishness, absurd
extravagance, could be easily forgiven. Molly herself would be fairly
dealt with and set aside; the "paying guest" was an indignity that he
would soon forget. He would have been entirely indifferent to the
impression of regretful interest that he had made upon her.

That night Edmund Grosse was Molly's confidant as to the second, and
evidently final, rupture between herself and Mrs. Delaport Green that