ceased to satirize himself because time dulled the irony of the
situation and the joke lost its humor with its sting. Even the sight
of Haskett's hat on the hall table had ceased to touch the springs
of epigram. The hat was often seen there now, for it had been
decided that it was better for Lily's father to visit her than for
the little girl to go to his boarding-house. Waythorn, having
acquiesced in this arrangement, had been surprised to find how
little difference it made. Haskett was never obtrusive, and the few
visitors who met him on the stairs were unaware of his identity.
Waythorn did not know how often he saw Alice, but with himself
Haskett was seldom in contact.

One afternoon, however, he learned on entering that Lily's father
was waiting to see him. In the library he found Haskett occupying a
chair in his usual provisional way. Waythorn always felt grateful to
him for not leaning back.

"I hope you'll excuse me, Mr. Waythorn," he said rising. "I wanted
to see Mrs. Waythorn about Lily, and your man asked me to wait here
till she came in."

"Of course," said Waythorn, remembering that a sudden leak had that
morning given over the drawing-room to the plumbers.

He opened his cigar-case and held it out to his visitor, and
Haskett's acceptance seemed to mark a fresh stage in their
intercourse. The spring evening was chilly, and Waythorn invited his
guest to draw up his chair to the fire. He meant to find an excuse
to leave Haskett in a moment; but he was tired and cold, and after
all the little man no longer jarred on him.