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But
it
was
in
the
more
intimate
reward
of
his
wife
’
s
happiness
that
Glennard
tasted
the
full
flavor
of
success
.
Coming
out
of
conditions
so
narrow
that
those
he
offered
her
seemed
spacious
,
she
fitted
into
her
new
life
without
any
of
those
manifest
efforts
at
adjustment
that
are
as
sore
to
a
husband
’
s
pride
as
the
critical
rearrangement
of
the
bridal
furniture
.
She
had
given
him
,
instead
,
the
delicate
pleasure
of
watching
her
expand
like
a
sea
-
creature
restored
to
its
element
,
stretching
out
the
atrophied
tentacles
of
girlish
vanity
and
enjoyment
to
the
rising
tide
of
opportunity
.
And
somehow
—
in
the
windowless
inner
cell
of
his
consciousness
where
self
-
criticism
cowered
—
Glennard
’
s
course
seemed
justified
by
its
merely
material
success
.
How
could
such
a
crop
of
innocent
blessedness
have
sprung
from
tainted
soil
?
Now
he
had
the
injured
sense
of
a
man
entrapped
into
a
disadvantageous
bargain
.
He
had
not
known
it
would
be
like
this
;
and
a
dull
anger
gathered
at
his
heart
.
Anger
against
whom
?
Against
his
wife
,
for
not
knowing
what
he
suffered
?
Against
Flamel
,
for
being
the
unconscious
instrument
of
his
wrong
-
doing
?
Or
against
that
mute
memory
to
which
his
own
act
had
suddenly
given
a
voice
of
accusation
?
Yes
,
that
was
it
;
and
his
punishment
henceforth
would
be
the
presence
,
the
unescapable
presence
,
of
the
woman
he
had
so
persistently
evaded
.
She
would
always
be
there
now
.
It
was
as
though
he
had
married
her
instead
of
the
other
.
It
was
what
she
had
always
wanted
—
to
be
with
him
—
and
she
had
gained
her
point
at
last
.
.
.
.
He
sprang
up
,
as
though
in
an
impulse
of
flight
.
.
.
.
The
sudden
movement
lifted
his
wife
’
s
lids
,
and
she
asked
,
in
the
incurious
voice
of
the
woman
whose
life
is
enclosed
in
a
magic
circle
of
prosperity
—
“
Any
news
?
”
“
No
—
none
—
”
he
said
,
roused
to
a
sense
of
immediate
peril
.
The
papers
lay
scattered
at
his
feet
—
what
if
she
were
to
see
them
?
He
stretched
his
arm
to
gather
them
up
,
but
his
next
thought
showed
him
the
futility
of
such
concealment
.
The
same
advertisement
would
appear
every
day
,
for
weeks
to
come
,
in
every
newspaper
;
how
could
he
prevent
her
seeing
it
?
He
could
not
always
be
hiding
the
papers
from
her
.
.
.
.
Well
,
and
what
if
she
did
see
it
?
It
would
signify
nothing
to
her
,
the
chances
were
that
she
would
never
even
read
the
book
.
.
.
.
As
she
ceased
to
be
an
element
of
fear
in
his
calculations
the
distance
between
them
seemed
to
lessen
and
he
took
her
again
,
as
it
were
,
into
the
circle
of
his
conjugal
protection
.
.
.
.
Yet
a
moment
before
he
had
almost
hated
her
!
.
.
.
He
laughed
aloud
at
his
senseless
terrors
.
.
.
.
He
was
off
his
balance
,
decidedly
.
“
What
are
you
laughing
at
?
”
she
asked
.
He
explained
,
elaborately
,
that
he
was
laughing
at
the
recollection
of
an
old
woman
in
the
train
,
an
old
woman
with
a
lot
of
bundles
,
who
couldn
’
t
find
her
ticket
.
.
.
.
But
somehow
,
in
the
telling
,
the
humor
of
the
story
seemed
to
evaporate
,
and
he
felt
the
conventionality
of
her
smile
.
He
glanced
at
his
watch
,
“
Isn
’
t
it
time
to
dress
?
”
She
rose
with
serene
reluctance
.
“
It
’
s
a
pity
to
go
in
.
The
garden
looks
so
lovely
.
”
They
lingered
side
by
side
,
surveying
their
domain
.
There
was
not
space
in
it
,
at
this
hour
,
for
the
shadow
of
the
elm
-
tree
in
the
angle
of
the
hedge
;
it
crossed
the
lawn
,
cut
the
flower
-
border
in
two
,
and
ran
up
the
side
of
the
house
to
the
nursery
window
.
She
bent
to
flick
a
caterpillar
from
the
honey
-
suckle
;
then
,
as
they
turned
indoors
,
“
If
we
mean
to
go
on
the
yacht
next
Sunday
,
”
she
suggested
,
“
oughtn
’
t
you
to
let
Mr
.
Flamel
know
?
”
