Waythorn stood on the threshold, nervously pulling off his gloves.

"I'm sorry you've been detained. I will send for the nurse," he
said; and as he opened the door he added with an effort: "I'm glad
we can give you a good report of Lily." He winced as the _we_
slipped out, but Haskett seemed not to notice it.

"Thank you, Mr. Waythorn. It's been an anxious time for me."

"Ah, well, that's past. Soon she'll be able to go to you." Waythorn
nodded and passed out.

In his own room, he flung himself down with a groan. He hated the
womanish sensibility which made him suffer so acutely from the
grotesque chances of life. He had known when he married that his
wife's former husbands were both living, and that amid the
multiplied contacts of modern existence there were a thousand
chances to one that he would run against one or the other, yet he
found himself as much disturbed by his brief encounter with Haskett
as though the law had not obligingly removed all difficulties in the
way of their meeting.

Waythorn sprang up and began to pace the room nervously. He had not
suffered half so much from his two meetings with Varick. It was
Haskett's presence in his own house that made the situation so
intolerable. He stood still, hearing steps in the passage.

"This way, please," he heard the nurse say. Haskett was being taken
upstairs, then: not a corner of the house but was open to him.