"I'd be glad to; it's very kind of you, Duane," replied Grandcourt, showing his pleasure at the proposal in the direct honesty of his response. Few men considered it worth while to cultivate Grandcourt. To lunch with him was a bore; a tête-à-tête with him assumed the proportions of a visitation; his slowness and stupidity had become proverbial in that club; and yet almost the only foundation for it had been Dysart's attitude toward him; and men's estimate of him was the more illogical because few men really cared for Dysart's opinions. But Dysart had introduced him, elected him, and somehow had contrived to make the public accept his half-sneering measure of Grandcourt as Grandcourt's true stature. And the man, being shy, reticent, slow to anger, slower still to take his own part, was tolerated and good-humouredly avoided when decently possible. So much for the average man's judgment of an average man.
Seated opposite to Duane, Grandcourt expressed his pleasure at seeing him with a simplicity that touched the other. Then, in perfectly good taste, but with great diffidence, he spoke of Duane's bereavement.
For a little while they asked and answered those amiably formal questions convention requires under similar circumstances; then Duane spoke of Dysart gravely, because new rumours were rife concerning him, even a veiled hint of possible indictment and arrest.
"I hope not," said Grandcourt, his heavy features becoming troubled; "he is a broken man, and no court and jury can punish him more severely than he has been punished. Nor do I know what they could get out of him. He has nothing left; everything he possessed has been turned over. He sits all day in a house that is no longer his, doing nothing, hoping nothing, hearing nothing, except the childish babble of his old father or the voices from the hall below, where his servants are fighting off reporters and cranks and people with grievances. Oh, I tell you, Duane, it's pitiable, all right!"
"There was a rumour yesterday of his suicide," said Duane in a low voice. "I did not credit it."
Grandcourt shook his head: "He never would do that. He totally lacks whatever you call it—cowardice or courage—to do that. It is not like Dysart; it is not in him to do it. He never will, never could. I know him, Duane."
Duane nodded.
Grandcourt spoke again: "He cares for few things; life is one of them. His father, his social position, his harmless—success with women—" Grandcourt hesitated, caught Duane's eye. Both men's features became expressionless.
Duane said: "I had an exceedingly nice note from Rosalie the other day. She has bought one of those double-deck apartments—but I fancy you know about it."
"Yes," said Grandcourt, turning red. "She was good enough to ask my opinion." He added with a laugh: "I shouldn't think anybody would want my opinion after the way I've smashed my own affairs."