Hitherto his life had been equable and pleasant; his friends had adored him; the world had flattered him; he had been at peace with his own soul.

He had known his failings, but laughed at them cavalierly; he stood on a different platform from the struggling, conscience-stricken herd.

Now he had in very truth been flung neck and crop from the pedestal of his self-esteem; and he lay groaning in the dust of abasement.
Wratislaw guessed with a friend's instinct his friend's disquietude, and turned his steps to the hill when he had heard the butler's message.

He had known something of Lewis's imaginary self-upbraidings, and he was prepared for them, but he was not prepared for the grey and wretched face in the lee of the pinewood.

A sudden suspicion that Lewis had been guilty of some real dishonour flashed across his mind for the moment, only to be driven out with scorn.
"Lewie, my son, what the deuce is wrong with you ?" he cried.
The other looked at him with miserable eyes.
"I am beginning to find out my rottenness." Wratislaw laughed in spite of himself.