ould only
be in love with being loved; her affection for him had dwindled as
well; at last they had come to be indifferent to each other, she no
longer inspired him to be better, and thus he had shaken off this good
influence as well.

Public opinion had been a great check upon him, the fear of scandal, the
desire to stand well with the world he knew. Trivial though he felt it
to be, the dread of what people would say had to a great extent held
Vandover back. He had a position to maintain, a reputation to keep up in
the parlours and at the dinner tables where he was received. It could
not be denied that society had influenced Vandover for good. But this,
too, like all the others, he had cast from him. Now he was ostracized,
society cared no longer what he did, his position was gone, his
reputation was destroyed. There was no one now to stand in his way.

Vandover could not fall back on any religious influence. Religion had
never affected him very deeply. It was true that he had been baptized,
confirmed, and had gone to church with considerable regularity. If he
had been asked if he was a Christian and believed in God he would have
answered "Certainly, certainly." Until the time of his father's death he
had even said his prayers every night, the last thing before turning out
the gas, sitting upon the edge of his bed in his night-gown, his head in
both his hands. He added to the Lord's Prayer certain other petitions as
to those who were in trouble, sorrow, poverty, or any other privations;
he asked for blessings upon his father and upon himself, praying for the
former's health and prosperity, and for himself, that he might become a
great artist, that the "Last Enemy" might be admitted to the Salon when
he had painted it, and that it might make him famous. But, as a rule,
Vandover thought very little about religious matters and when he did,
told himself that he was too intelligent to believe in a literal heaven,
a literal hell, and a personal God personally interfering in human
affairs like any Jove or Odin. But the moment he rejected a concrete
religion Vandover was almost helpless. He was not mystic enough to find
any meaning in signs or symbols, nor philosophic enough to grasp vague
and immense abstractions. Infinities, Presences, Forces, could not help
him withstand temptation, could not strengthen him against the brute. He
felt that somewhere, some time, there was punishment for evildoing,
but, as happened in the cas