We are all acting.

Each man or woman carries this potentiality of a double life--it is only a question of less or more.
Suddenly he coloured, as he saw _himself_ thus writ double--first as he appeared to Madame de Pastourelles, and then as he appeared to Phoebe.

Masquerading was easy, it seemed; and conscience made little fuss! Instantly, however, the inner man rebelled against the implied comparison of himself with Morrison.

An accidental concealment, acquiesced in temporarily, for business reasons--what had that in common with villainy like Morrison's?
An awkward affair, no doubt; and he had been a fool to slip into it.

But in a few weeks he would put it right--come what would.
As to the debt--he tried to fight against a feeling of deliverance--but clearly he need be in no hurry to pay it.