“The worst of it is,” Val kept his point and his temper, “that it’s not only Chilmark.  One could afford to ignore village gossip, but this has reached Wharton, my father—­Mrs. Clowes herself.  You wouldn’t willingly do anything to make her unhappy:  indeed it’s because of your consistent and delicate kindness both to her and to Bernard that I’ve refrained from giving you a hint before.  You’ve done Bernard an immense amount of good.  But the good doesn’t any longer counterbalance the involuntary mischief:  hasn’t for some time past:  can’t you see it for yourself?  One has only to watch the change coming over her, to look into her eyes—­”

“Really, if you’ll excuse my saying so, you seem to have looked into them a little too often yourself.”

Val waited to take out his case and light a cigarette.  He offered one to Hyde—­“Won’t you?”

“No, thanks:  if you’ve done I’ll be moving on.”

“Why I haven’t really begun yet.  You make me nervous—­it’s a rotten thing to say to any man, and doubly difficult from me to you—­and I express myself badly, But I must chance being called impertinent.  The trouble is with your cousin.  If you had heard him last night. . . .  He’s madly jealous.”

“Of me?  Last night?” Lawrence gave a short laugh:  this time he really was amused.

“Dangerously jealous.”

“There’s not room for a shadow of suspicion.  Go and interview Selincourt’s servant if you like, or nose around the Continental.”

“Well,” said Val, coaxing a lucifer between his cupped palms, “I dare say it’ll come to that.  I’ve done a good deal of Bernard’s dirty work.  Some one has to do it for the sake of a quiet life.  His suspicions aren’t rational, you know.”

“I should think you put them into his head.”

“I?” the serene eyes widened slightly, irritating Lawrence by their effect of a delicacy too fastidious for contempt.  For this courtesy, of finer grain than his own sarcasm, made him itch to violate and soil it, as mobs will destroy what they never can possess.  “Need we drag in personalities?  He was jealous of you before you came to Wanhope.  He fancies or pretends to fancy that you were in love with Mrs. Clowes when you were boy and girl.  We’re not dealing with a sane or normal nature:  he was practically mad last night—­he frightened me.  May I give you, word for word, what he said?  That he let you stay on because he meant to give his wife rope enough to hang herself.”

“What do you want me to do?” said Lawrence after a pause.

“To leave Wanhope.”

More at his ease than Val, in spite of the disadvantage of his evening dress, Lawrence stood looking down at him with brilliant inexpressive eyes.  “Is it your own idea that I stayed on at Wanhope to make love to Laura?”

“If I answer that, you’ll tell me that I’m meddling with what is none of my business, and this time you’ll be right.”