When Leonard Everard parted from Stephen he did so with a feeling of
dissatisfaction: firstly, with Stephen; secondly, with things in
general; thirdly, with himself. The first was definite, concrete,
and immediate; he could give himself chapter and verse for all the
girl's misdoing. Everything she had said or done had touched some
nerve painfully, or had offended his feelings; and to a man of his
temperament his feelings are very sacred things, to himself.

'Why had she put him in such a ridiculous position? That was the
worst of women. They were always wanting him to do something he
didn't want to do, or crying . . . there was that girl at Oxford.'

Here he turned his head slowly, and looked round in a furtive way,
which was getting almost a habit with him. 'A fellow should go away
so that he wouldn't have to swear lies. Women were always wanting
money; or worse: to be married! Confound women; they all seemed to
want him to marry them! There was the Oxford girl, and then the
Spaniard, and now Stephen!' This put his thoughts in a new channel.
He wanted money himself. Why, Stephen had spoken of it herself; had
offered to pay his debts. Gad! it was a good idea that every one
round the countryside seemed to know his affairs. What a flat he had
been not to accept her offer then and there before matters had gone
further. Stephen had lots of money, more than any girl could want.
But she didn't give him time to get the thing fixed . . . If he had
only known beforehand what she wanted he could have come prepared . .
. that was the way with women! Always thinking of themselves! And
now? Of course she wouldn't stump up after his refusing her. What
would his father say if he came to hear of it? And he must speak to
him soon, for these chaps were threatening to County Court him if he
didn't pay. Those harpies in Vere Street were quite nasty . . . '