“Precisely,” said Gerard, with a slight flush. Harroway rose and took two or three turns about the room, his hands behind his back.
“I see no other way out of it, Merriam,” he said. “I was hoping you could forgive her--take her back, sometime. I am fond of her. In fact, fond of the three of you, confound it! The whole business has upset me. First the murder affair--and now this. Yes. It’s best. Let somebody be happy, at any rate. You are acting generously--but I’d like you to give her a little grace--unless time is important.”
“It is important,” said Gerard. “I want to get away. I don’t see why I should go on slaving at the bar any longer. If it hadn’t been for my wife I should have chucked it long ago. I have about six hundred a year of my own. Why the deuce should I worry myself?”
“South Africa. Big game shooting. One of the dreams of my life. I’m sick of this atmosphere. I want to breathe freely. I know Freewintle--the big man at that sort of thing, you know. He’s going out in two or three months. I don’t see why I should lose the chance of going with him. So I should like to set everything straight by then.”
Harroway nodded his head with mournful assent.
He walked across the room, then back again and halted before Gerard.
“But you know, Merriam, I would willingly give a thousand pounds to have your wife proved innocent.”
“I would give all I have to be able to believe her,” returned Gerard. But his tone sounded disingenuous in his own ears.
“I am not going to ask you to act for me, professionally,” he added.
“I suppose not,” replied Harroway, drily.
They shook hands and parted. Gerard took a long breath as soon as he reached the open air, and the look of dignified sorrow vanished from his face. He walked through Lincoln’s Inn Fields with a step that was almost jaunty--greatly pleased by his visit.
If there had been anything mean or cruel in his proposed action, Harroway would have protested bluntly, for flabbiness of expression was not one of his characteristics. Obviously it was the only thing to be done. The sooner the better. As he turned into Chancery Lane a child held up to him a basket of violets. He bought a bunch, stuck it in his buttonhole, a thing which he had not done for years, being a man neglectful of spruceness in attire. He felt exhilarated, in holiday mood, experiencing a sensation of freedom from chafing constraints.