John was perfectly self-possessed; it took much to disturb his equanimity. He smoked his cigarette, which was in an amber mouthpiece, and seemed to enjoy its flavour. Reardon found himself observing the perfection of the young man's boots and trousers.
'That depends entirely on my wife herself;' he replied mechanically.
'How so?'
'I offer her the best home I can.'
Reardon felt himself a poor, pitiful creature, and hated the well-dressed man who made him feel so.
'But really, Reardon,' began the other, uncrossing and recrossing his legs, 'do you tell me in seriousness that you expect Amy to live in such lodgings as you can afford on a pound a week?'
'I don't. I said that I had offered her the best home I could. Iknow it's impossible, of course.'
Either he must speak thus, or break into senseless wrath. It was hard to hold back the angry words that were on his lips, but he succeeded, and he was glad he had done so.
'Then it doesn't depend on Amy,' said John.
'I suppose not.'
'You see no reason, then, why she shouldn't live as at present for an indefinite time?'
To John, whose perspicacity was not remarkable, Reardon's changed tone conveyed simply an impression of bland impudence. He eyed his brother-in-law rather haughtily.
'I can only say,' returned the other, who was become wearily indifferent, 'that as soon as I can afford a decent home I shall give my wife the opportunity of returning to me.'
'But, pray, when is that likely to be?'
John had passed the bounds; his manner was too frankly contemptuous.
'I see no right you have to examine me in this fashion,' Reardon exclaimed. 'With Mrs Yule I should have done my best to be patient if she had asked these questions; but you are not justified in putting them, at all events not in this way.'
'I'm very sorry you speak like this, Reardon,' said the other, with calm insolence. 'It confirms unpleasant ideas, you know.'
'What do you mean?'
'Why, one can't help thinking that you are rather too much at your ease under the circumstances. It isn't exactly an everyday thing, you know, for a man's wife to be sent back to her own people--'
Reardon could not endure the sound of these words. He interrupted hotly.
'I can't discuss it with you. You are utterly unable to comprehend me and my position, utterly! It would be useless to defend myself. You must take whatever view seems to you the natural one.'
John, having finished his cigarette, rose.
'The natural view is an uncommonly disagreeable one,' he said.
'However, I have no intention of quarrelling with you. I'll only just say that, as I take a share in the expenses of my mother's house, this question decidedly concerns me; and I'll add that Ithink it ought to concern you a good deal more than it seems to.'
Reardon, ashamed already of his violence, paused upon these remarks.
'It shall,' he uttered at length, coldly. 'You have put it clearly enough to me, and you shan't have spoken in vain. Is there anything else you wish to say?'
'Thank you; I think not.'
They parted with distant civility, and Reardon closed the door behind his visitor.
He knew that his character was seen through a distorting medium by Amy's relatives, to some extent by Amy herself; but hitherto the reflection that this must always be the case when a man of his kind is judged by people of the world had strengthened him in defiance. An endeavour to explain himself would be maddeningly hopeless; even Amy did not understand aright the troubles through which his intellectual and moral nature was passing, and to speak of such experiences to Mrs Yule or to John would be equivalent to addressing them in alien tongues; he and they had no common criterion by reference to which he could make himself intelligible. The practical tone in which John had explained the opposing view of the situation made it impossible for him to proceed as he had purposed. Amy would never come to him in his poor lodgings; her mother, her brother, all her advisers would regard such a thing as out of the question. Very well;recognising this, he must also recognise his wife's claim upon him for material support. It was not in his power to supply her with means sufficient to live upon, but what he could afford she should have.
When he went out, it was with a different purpose from that of half an hour ago. After a short search in the direction of Edgware Road, he found a dealer in second-hand furniture, whom he requested to come as soon as possible to the flat on a matter of business. An hour later the man kept his appointment. Having brought him into the study, Reardon said:
'I wish to sell everything in this flat, with a few exceptions that I'll point out to you'.
'Very good, sir,' was the reply. 'Let's have a look through the rooms.'
That the price offered would be strictly a minimum Reardon knew well enough. The dealer was a rough and rather dirty fellow, with the distrustful glance which distinguishes his class. Men of Reardon's type, when hapless enough to be forced into vulgar commerce, are doubly at a disadvantage; not only their ignorance, but their sensitiveness, makes them ready victims of even the least subtle man of business. To deal on equal terms with a person you must be able to assert with calm confidence that you are not to be cheated; Reardon was too well aware that he would certainly be cheated, and shrank scornfully from the higgling of the market. Moreover, he was in a half-frenzied state of mind, and cared for little but to be done with the hateful details of this process of ruin.
He pencilled a list of the articles he must retain for his own use; it would of course be cheaper to take a bare room than furnished lodgings, and every penny he could save was of importance to him. The chair-bedstead, with necessary linen and blankets, a table, two chairs, a looking-glass--strictly the indispensable things; no need to complete the list. Then there were a few valuable wedding-presents, which belonged rather to Amy than to him; these he would get packed and send to Westbourne Park.
