That night when he came back to his hotel, he understood for the first time that he had throughout been cherishing an unrecognized hope; that he had not been honest with himself, and that all the time beneath his great scheme had lain the belief that when the truth was known Christine would prefer him and his moderate income to Linburne and his wealth; that, in short, the great scheme had been all the time not a method of freeing himself, but a test of her affection.
Now any such possibility was over. Now he himself was facing the problem of mere existence—at least he would be as soon as he had collected his wits enough to face anything.
The next day, which was Sunday, he spent entirely with his lawyer. When he came back to his hotel, between the entrance and the elevator a figure rose in his path. It was Hickson.
“Riatt, I’m awfully sorry about this,” he said.
“Thank you, Hickson. It’s very decent of you to be,” Max answered as cordially as he could, but he was tired and wanted to be let alone, and there was not as much real gratitude in his heart as there should have been. He did not ask Ned to sit down until he had explained with his accustomed simplicity that he had something of importance to say. Then Riatt let him lead the way to one of those remote and stuffy sitting-rooms in which all hotels abound. He saw at once that Hickson found it difficult to say what he had come to say, but Riatt was in no humor this time to help him out.
“I’m awfully sorry this has happened,” Hickson went on, “not only on your account, but on Christine’s. I mean that I did begin to hope that life with you meant peace and happiness for her—”
To cut him short, Riatt said quickly: “Now, of course, the marriage is out of the question.”
Hickson’s face brightened, as if the difficult words had been said for him. “You do feel that?” he said, nodding a little as if to encourage his friend.
Max did not answer at first in words; he laughed rather bitterly, and then after a pause he said, “Yes, Hickson, I do.”
Ned was clearly relieved. “Of course,” he said, “I did not know how that would be. But I own it did occur to me. The world is very censorious of poor Christine. Every one will say that she is the kind of woman who can’t stick to a man in adversity. Yes, I assure you, Riatt, lots of these women who can’t put down one of their motors without having nervous prostration will pillory Christine for breaking her engagement, unless—” he paused.