'You dunna mind how much--' began Vessons. But Reddin cut him short.

'Get on,' he said, and Vessons knew by the tone that he had better.
'Push it under the parson's door, knock, and make yourself scarce,
Vessons,' Reddin ordered.

'You can go up to bed if you like, Hazel.'

Left alone, he walked up and down the room, puzzled and uneasy.

According to his idea, he had done Hazel the greatest honour a man can
pay to a woman. He could not see in what he had failed. He was
irritated with his conscience for being troublesome. He had, as he put
it, merely satisfied a need of his nature--a need simple and urgent as
eating and drinking. He did not understand that in failing to find out
whether it was also a need of Hazel's nature--and in nothing else at
all--lay his unpardonable crime.

That he had offended against the views of his Church did not worry him.
For, like many churchmen, he had the happy gift of keeping profession
and practice, dogma and deeds, in airtight compartments. How many of
the most fervent churchmen are not, or have not been at some period of
their lives, exactly like Reddin?

'Of course, I've been a bit of a beast in the past,' he thought. 'But
that's done with. Besides, she doesn't know.'

He reflected again.