“But for her,” she continued, smiling archly, “I should perhaps not have married you.  I was with doubts about myself and about you.  Then I went to Mrs. Quarrier, and—­what a thing to do!—­asked her what she thought of you!  She told me, and I came away without a doubt left.—­That’s why I cried so much when we heard of her death.  I should have told you then if you hadn’t got vexed with me —­I’m sure I don’t know why.”

Glazzard laughed, and dismissed the subject carelessly.

Not long after, he was alone.  After much pacing about the room, he came to a stand before his clay masterpiece, and stared at it as though the dull eyes fascinated him.  Of a sudden he raised his fist and with one blow beat the head into a shapeless mass.

Then he went out, locking the door behind him.

On leaving the Glazzards, Quarrier pursued the important business that had brought him into this part of London.  He drove to a hospital, newly opened, with which he was connected in the capacity of treasurer.  Talk with the secretary occupied him for half an hour; about to set forth again, he encountered on the staircase two ladies, the one a hospital nurse, the other Mrs. Wade.

“Could you grant me five minutes?” asked the widow, earnestly.  “I didn’t hope to see you here, and must have called upon you—­but you are so busy.”

There was a humility in her suppressed voice which, had the speaker been another person, would have prepared Denzil for some mendicant petition of the politer kind.  She spoke hurriedly, as if fearing a rebuff.

“Let us step this way,” he said, opening a door which led into an unoccupied room.

Mrs. Wade was dressed rather more simply than had been her wont when she lived at Polterham.  One conjectured that her circumstances were not improved.  She looked tired, harassed; her eyes wanted something of their former brightness, and she had the appearance of a much older woman.

There were no seats in the room.  Quarrier did not refer to the fact, but stood in an attitude of friendly attention.

“I saw Northway yesterday,” Mrs. Wade began.

The listener’s face expressed annoyance.

“Need we speak of him?” he said, briefly.

“I am obliged to.  He told me something which I had long suspected—­ something you certainly must learn.”

“Is it a fresh attack on my pocket?” asked Denzil, with resignation.

“No, but something that will grieve you far more.  I have been trying for a long time to get it out of him, and now that I have succeeded I almost wish the thought had never occurred to me.”

“Pray, pray don’t keep me in suspense, Mrs. Wade.”

“Northway did not make his discovery by chance.  You were betrayed to him—­by a seeming friend.”

Denzil looked steadily at her.

“A friend?—­He has deceived you.  Only one acquaintance of mine knew.”