Lawford put the candlestick down on the table. 'There's only one
thing,' he said, watching his visitor's rummaging; 'what
precisely do you think they will do with me?'

'Look here, Lawford,' snapped Mr Bethany; 'I've come round here,
hooting through your letter-box, to tally sense, not sentiment.
Why has your wife deserted you? Without a servant, without a
single-- It's perfectly monstrous.'

'On my word of honour, I prefer it so. I couldn't have gone on.
Alone I all but forget this--this lupus. Every turn of her little
finger reminded me of it. We are all of us alone, whether we know
it or not; you said so yourself. And it's better to realize it
stark and unconfused. Besides, you have no idea what--what odd
things.... There may be; there IS something on the other side.
I'll win through to that.'

Mr Bethany had been listening attentively. He scrambled up from
his knees with a half-empty syphon of sodawater. 'See here,
Lawford,' he said; 'if you really want to know what's your most
insidious and most dangerous symptom just now, it is spiritual
pride. You've won what you think a domestic victory; and you can
scarcely bear the splendour. Oh, you may shrug! Pray, what IS
this "other side" which the superior double-faced creature's
going to win through to now?' He rapped it out almost bitterly,
almost contemptuously.

Lawford hardly heard the question. Before his eyes had suddenly
arisen the peace, the friendly unquestioning stillness, the
thunderous lullaby old as the grave. 'It's only a fancy. It