self-poised; besides, he is too honorable.  But he saw me.  He rose immediately and came to speak to me.  He shook hands.  He looked at my face under my pink-lined hat.  He saw it as it was; but bless him! that stupid wife of his holds him fast with his own honor.  Ned Temple is a good man.  Sometimes I wonder if it would not have been better if he, instead of Lyman—­Well, that is idiotic.

He said he had to go to the post-office, and then it was time for him to go home to supper (to the cake and sauce, I suppose), and with my permission he would walk with me.  So he did.  I don’t know how it happened that I consulted with him.  I think he spoke of Peggy’s engagement, and that led up to it.  But I could speak to him, because I knew that he, seeing me as I really am, would view the matter seriously.  I told him about the miserable affair, and he said that I had done exactly right.  I can’t remember that he offered any actual solution, but it was something to be told that I had done exactly right.  And then he spoke of his wife, and in such a faithful fashion, and so lovingly of his two commonplace little girls.  Ned Temple is as good as he is brilliant.  It is really rather astonishing that such a brilliant man can be so good.  He told me that I had not changed at all, but all the time that look of faithfulness for his wife never left his handsome face, bless him!  I believe I am nearer loving him for his love for another woman than I ever was to loving him for himself.

And then the inconceivable happened.  I did what I never thought I should be capable of doing, and did it easily, too, without, I am sure, a change of color or any perturbation.  I think I could do it, because faithfulness had become so a matter of course with the man that I was not ashamed should he have any suspicion of me also.  He and Lyman used to be warm friends.  I asked if he knew anything about him.  He met my question as if I had asked what o’clock it was, just the way I knew he would meet it.  He knows no more than I do.  But he said something which has comforted me, although comfort at this stage of affairs is a dangerous indulgence.  He said, very much as if he had been speaking of the weather, “He worshipped you, Lily, and wherever he is, in this world or the next, he worships you now.”  Then he added:  “You know how I felt about you.  Lily.  If I had not found out about him, that he had come first, I know how it would have been with me, so I know how it is with him.  We had the same views about matters of that kind.  After I did find out, why, of course, I felt different—­although always, as long as I live, I shall be a dear friend to you.  Lily.  But a man is unfaithful to himself who is faithful to a woman whom another man loves and whom she loves.”

“Yes, that is true,” I agreed, and said something about the hours for the mails in Eastridge.  Lyman Wilde dropped out of Ned’s life as he dropped out of mine, it seems.  I shall simply have to lean back upon the minor joys of life for mental and physical support, as I did before.  Nothing is different, but I am glad that I have seen Ned Temple again, and realize what a good man he is.