"I should take care not to put their friendship to such a trial. I mean, I should take for granted that henceforth all intercourse with them must cease," said John, sadly but firmly.
"And you are prepared for this?"
Yes, John was prepared.
"Lastly, though I have hinted this before, you do not expect much future happiness in such an ill-assorted match?"
"I should endeavour to adapt myself to circumstances," said Tincroft. "It is possible, and almost certain, I am afraid, that I am naturally unadapted for wedded life; but since it has come upon me—if it should so prove—I daresay I shall take to it as well as others; and if not perfectly happy myself, I would endeavour to make my partner at least contented with her lot."
"Tincroft, I don't know what to make of you," broke out Mr. Rubric, abruptly.
John smiled faintly. "I often say so to myself," he said.
"But I cannot let you go on in this—pardon my calling it a—wild goose chase without putting the consequences before you. You remember my telling you of my old college friend and his imprudent marriage, and his subsequent disappointment?"
John smiled again.
"Yes, I remember," said he; "and also how you spoke of him as having taken the only honourable course open to him. Now that, as it seems to me, is what I have to do, and leave the event. It may be, poor Sarah will—"