“I did ...  It was ...  Of course.”

Mrs. Maldon made no sign of interest.

Mr. Batchgrew’s boots creaked to and fro in the room.

“And what’s Julian got to say for himself?” he asked, not addressing either woman in particular.

“Julian wasn’t here.  He didn’t stay the night.  Louis stayed instead,” answered Mrs. Maldon, faintly, without opening her eyes.

“What?  What?  What’s this?”

“Tell him, dear, how it was,” said Mrs. Maldon, still more faintly.

Rachel obeyed, in agitated, uneven tones.

CHAPTER VI

THEORIES OF THE THEFT

I

The inspiring and agreeable image of Rachel floated above vast contending forces of ideas in the mind of Louis Fores as he bent over his petty-cash book amid the dust of the vile inner office at Horrocleave’s; and their altercation was sharpened by the fact that Louis had not had enough sleep.  He had had a great deal more sleep than Rachel, but he had not had what he was in the habit of calling his “whack” of it.  Although never in a hurry to go to bed, he appreciated as well as any doctor the importance of sleep in the economy of the human frame, and his weekly average of repose was high; he was an expert sleeper.

He thirsted after righteousness, and the petty-cash book was permeated through and through with unrighteousness; and it was his handiwork.  Of course, under the unconscious influence of Rachel, seen in her kitchen and seen also in various other striking aspects during the exciting night, he might have bravely exposed the iniquity of the petty-cash book to Jim Horrocleave, and cleared his conscience, and then gone and confessed to Rachel, and thus prepared the way for the inner peace and a new life.  He would have suffered—­there was indeed a possibility of very severe suffering—­but he would have been a free man—­yes, free even if in prison, and he would have followed the fine tradition of rectitude, exhorting the respect and admiration of all true souls, etc.  He had read authentic records of similar deeds.  What stopped him from carrying out the programme of honesty was his powerful worldly common sense.  Despite what he had read, and despite the inspiring image of Rachel, his common sense soon convinced him that confession would be an error of judgment and quite unremunerative for, at any rate, very many years.  Hence he abandoned regretfully the notion of confession, as a beautifully impossible dream.  But righteousness was not thereby entirely denied to him; his thirst for it could still be assuaged by the device of an oath to repay secretly to Horrocleave every penny that he had stolen from Horrocleave, which oath he took—­and felt better and worthier of Rachel.