“I want to see you, but only after you have turned this matter over carefully.  It is my duty to put some considerations before you.  The suit, if brought, will be a very unpleasant matter for George, a still more unpleasant, even disastrous one, for his people.  The innocent in such cases are almost always the greatest sufferers.  If the cross-suit is instituted, it will assume at once, considering their position in Society, the proportions of a ‘cause celebre’, and probably occupy the court and the daily presses anything from three days to a week, perhaps more, and you know what that means.  On the other hand, not to defend the suit, considering what we know, is, apart from ethics, revolting to my instincts as a fighter.  My advice, therefore, is to make every effort to prevent matters being brought into court at all.

“I am an older man than you by thirteen years.  I have a sincere regard for you, and I wish to save you pain.  In the course of our interviews I have observed your ward very closely, and at the risk of giving you offence, I am going to speak out my mind.  Mrs. Bellew is a rather remarkable woman.  From two or three allusions that you have made in my presence, I believe that she is altogether different from what you think.  She is, in my opinion, one of those very vital persons upon whom our judgments, censures, even our sympathies, are wasted.  A woman of this sort, if she comes of a county family, and is thrown by circumstances with Society people, is always bound to be conspicuous.  If you would realise something of this, it would, I believe, save you a great deal of pain.  In short, I beg of you not to take her, or her circumstances, too seriously.  There are quite a number of such men and women as her husband and herself, and they are always certain to be more or less before the public eye.  Whoever else goes down, she will swim, simply because she can’t help it.  I want you to see things as they are.

“I ask you again, my dear Vigil, to forgive me for writing thus, and to believe that my sole desire is to try and save you unnecessary suffering.

“Come and see me as soon as you have reflected: 

                              “I am,
                                   “Your sincere friend,
                                        “Edmund Paramor.”

Gregory made a movement like that of a blind man.  Both women were on their feet at once.

“What is it, Mr. Vigil?  Can I get you anything?”

“Thanks; nothing, nothing.  I’ve had some rather bad news.  I’ll go out and get some air.  I shan’t be back to-day.”

He found his hat and went.

He walked towards the Park, unconsciously attracted towards the biggest space, the freshest air; his hands were folded behind him, his head bowed.  And since, of all things, Nature is ironical, it was fitting that he should seek the Park this day when it was gayest.  And far in the Park, as near the centre as might be, he lay down on the grass.  For a long time he lay without moving, his hands over his eyes, and in spite of Mr. Paramor’s reminder that his suffering was unnecessary, he suffered.