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He turned his head quickly, but seeing I was
alone, relapsed into his moody contemplation of the green landscape.
I said loudly and distinctly: "I've come out to smoke a cigarette," and
sat down near him on the little bench. Then lowering my voice:
"Tolerance is an extremely difficult virtue," I said. "More difficult
for some than heroism. More difficult than compassion."
I avoided looking at him. I knew well enough that he would not like this
opening. General ideas were not to his taste. He mistrusted them. I
lighted a cigarette, not that I wanted to smoke, but to give another
moment to the consideration of the advice--the diplomatic advice I had
made up my mind to bowl him over with. And I continued in subdued tones.
"I have been led to make these remarks by what I have discovered since
you left us. I suspected from the first. And now I am certain. What
your wife cannot tolerate in this affair is Miss de Barral being what she
is."
He made a movement, but I kept my eyes away from him and went on
steadily. "That is--her being a woman. I have some idea of Mrs.


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