“For how long has this been?” Roderick demanded.

“Since I first knew her.”

“Two years!  And you have never told her?”

“Never.”

“You have told no one?”

“You are the first person.”

“Why have you been silent?”

“Because of your engagement.”

“But you have done your best to keep that up.”

“That ’s another matter!”

“It ’s very strange!” said Roderick, presently.  “It ’s like something in a novel.”

“We need n’t expatiate on it,” said Rowland.  “All I wished to do was to rebut your charge that I am an abnormal being.”

But still Roderick pondered.  “All these months, while I was going on!  I wish you had mentioned it.”

“I acted as was necessary, and that ’s the end of it.”

“You have a very high opinion of her?”

“The highest.”

“I remember now your occasionally expressing it and my being struck with it.  But I never dreamed you were in love with her.  It ’s a pity she does n’t care for you!”

Rowland had made his point and he had no wish to prolong the conversation; but he had a desire to hear more of this, and he remained silent.

“You hope, I suppose, that some day she may?”

“I should n’t have offered to say so; but since you ask me, I do.”

“I don’t believe it.  She idolizes me, and if she never were to see me again she would idolize my memory.”

This might be profound insight, and it might be profound fatuity.  Rowland turned away; he could not trust himself to speak.

“My indifference, my neglect of her, must have seemed to you horrible.  Altogether, I must have appeared simply hideous.”

“Do you really care,” Rowland asked, “what you appeared?”

“Certainly.  I have been damnably stupid.  Is n’t an artist supposed to be a man of perceptions?  I am hugely disgusted.”

“Well, you understand now, and we can start afresh.”

“And yet,” said Roderick, “though you have suffered, in a degree, I don’t believe you have suffered so much as some other men would have done.”

“Very likely not.  In such matters quantitative analysis is difficult.”

Roderick picked up his stick and stood looking at the ground.  “Nevertheless, I must have seemed hideous,” he repeated—­“hideous.”  He turned away, scowling, and Rowland offered no contradiction.

They were both silent for some time, and at last Roderick gave a heavy sigh and began to walk away.  “Where are you going?” Rowland then asked.

“Oh, I don’t care!  To walk; you have given me something to think of.”  This seemed a salutary impulse, and yet Rowland felt a nameless perplexity.  “To have been so stupid damns me more than anything!” Roderick went on.  “Certainly, I can shut up shop now.”