Neither offered to shake hands; Malcourt, lightly formal, spoke of Hamil’s illness in a few words, using that excellent taste which was at his command when he chose to employ it.  He expressed his pleasure in Hamil’s recovery, and said that he was ready at any time to take up the unfinished details of Portlaw’s business, agreeing with Hamil that there remained very little to talk over.

“The main thing, of course, is to squelch William’s last hopes of any Rhine castles,” continued Malcourt, laughing.  “If you feel like it to-day I’ll bring over the plans as you sketched them.”

“In a day or two,” nodded Hamil.

“Or perhaps you will lunch with m—­with us, and you and I can go over the things comfortably.”

But he saw by the scarcely perceptible change in Hamil’s face that there were to be no such relations between them, informal or otherwise; and he went on quietly, closing his own suggestion: 

“Or, if you like, we’ll get Portlaw some morning after his breakfast, and end the whole matter by laying down the law to him.”

“That would be perfectly agreeable to me,” said Hamil.  He spoke as though fatigued, and he looked it as he moved toward his house, using his walking-stick.  Malcourt accompanied him to the road.

“Hamil,” he said coolly, “may I suggest something?”

The other turned an expressionless face toward him:  “What do you wish to suggest?”

“That, some day when you feel physically better, I’d like to go over one or two matters with you—­privately—­”

“What matters?”

“They concern you and myself.”

“I know of no private matters which concern you and myself—­or are ever likely to.”

Malcourt’s face darkened.  “I think I warned you once that one day you would misunderstand my friendship for you.”

Hamil straightened up, looking him coldly in the eye.

“Malcourt,” he said, “there is no reason for the slightest pretence between us.  I don’t like you; I don’t dislike you; I simply don’t take you into consideration at all.  The accident of your intrusion into a woman’s life is not going to make any more difference to me than it has already made, nor can it affect my complete liberty and freedom to do and say what I choose.”

“I am not sure that I understand you, Hamil.”

“Well, you can certainly understand this:  that my regard for—­Mrs. Malcourt—­does not extend to you; that it is neither modified nor hampered by the fact that you happen to exist, or that she now bears your name.”

Malcourt’s face had lost its colour.  He began slowly: 

“There is no reason, I think—­”

“I don’t care what you think!” said Hamil.  “It is not of any consequence to me, nor will it govern me in any manner.”  He made a contemptuous gesture toward the garden.  “Those flower-beds and gravel walks in there—­I don’t know whether they belong to you or to Mrs. Malcourt or to Portlaw; and I don’t care.  The accidental ownership of property will not prevent my entering it; but its ownership by you would prevent my accepting your personal invitation to use it or even enter it.  And now, perhaps, you understand.”