For things were going very badly. The fight was on.

It was a battle without action. Each side was dug in and entrenched, and
waiting. It was an engagement where the principals met occasionally the
neutral ground of the streets, bowed to each other and passed on.

The town was sorry for David and still fond of him, but it resented his
stiff-necked attitude. It said, in effect, that when he ceased to make
Dick's enemies his it was willing to be friends. But it said also, to
each other and behind its hands, that Dick's absence was discreditable
or it would be explained, and that he had behaved abominably to
Elizabeth. It would be hanged if it would be friends with him.

It looked away, but it watched. Dick knew that when he passed by on the
streets it peered at him from behind its curtains, and whispered behind
his back. Now and then he saw, on his evening walks, that line of cars
drawn up before houses he had known and frequented which indicated a
party, but he was never asked. He never told David.

It was only when the taboo touched David that Dick was resentful, and
then he was inclined to question the wisdom of his return. It hurt
him, for instance, to see David give up his church, and reading morning
prayer alone at home on Sunday mornings, and to see his grim silence
when some of his old friends were mentioned.