"She has been so free!" Those words made a great impression on Paul
Overt, and he almost writhed under that irony in them as to which it so
little mattered whether it was designed or casual. Of course she had
been free, and appreciably perhaps by his own act; for wasn't the
Master's allusion to her having liked him a part of the irony too? "I
thought that by your theory you disapproved of a writer's marrying."

"Surely--surely. But you don't call me a writer?"

"You ought to be ashamed," said Paul.

"Ashamed of marrying again?"

"I won't say that--but ashamed of your reasons."

The elder man beautifully smiled. "You must let me judge of them, my
good friend."

"Yes; why not? For you judged wonderfully of mine."

The tone of these words appeared suddenly, for St. George, to suggest the
unsuspected. He stared as if divining a bitterness. "Don't you think
I've been straight?"

"You might have told me at the time perhaps."

"My dear fellow, when I say I couldn't pierce futurity--!"

"I mean afterwards."