think," proceeded Dick generously if a trifle too
magnificently, "I can't see. There's a lot of things I see that don't
bear talking about. I've pitched into you about Nan, but you needn't
suppose I don't know it's all a matter of hidden complexes."

Again recurring to Charlotte in this moment of need, Raven reflected
that he didn't know whether he was afoot or a-horseback.

"You don't mind, I hope," he said, with humility before this perfectly
equipped intelligence, "explaining a little."

"Why," said Dick, "there's all your previous life. It's a case of
inhibition. There was Miss Anne."

"Stop," said Raven, his curiosity over the boy's mind dying in a crash.
"Stop right there, Dick; you're making a fool of yourself. Now we'll go
to bed."

He got up and waited, and Dick, sulkily, rose too.

"You needn't think," he began, and Raven broke in:

"You needn't think I shall stand another word of your half-baked
psycho-deviltries. You can believe what you like. It'll harm nobody but
yourself. But you don't talk it here, or out you go. Now!"

The last word meant he was waiting to put out the light and Dick,
without another look at him, strode out of the room, snatched his
suit-case and went up the stairs. Raven heard the decisive click of his
door and, his own heart beating in a quick response to what he knew must
happen, turned on the light again and stood there silent, waiting. It
did happen. A soft rustle, like a breeze blowing down the stairs, and
Nan came in. She had taken off her child's dress, as if to show him she
had left their game behind her. The long braids were pinned up, and she
wore her dark walking dress. She was paler, much older, and he was
renewedly angry with Dick for banishing the Nan that was but an hour
ago. Perhaps that Nan would never come back.

"Darling Rookie," she said, so softly that the sound of it could not
have got half way up the stairs, "what's it all about?"

"About you, Nan," he answered, and denied himself the darling Nan he had
for her. "And being in love. And Dick's wanting you."

"It's more than that," said Nan wistfully. "He's been at you somehow.
He's dug ditches across your dear forehead and down your cheeks. What
d'he say, Rookie? What d'you say to him?"

Raven shook his head. He had no idea of inviting her into the
psycho-analytic ward of Dick's mind.

"Nan," he said, "the boy's unhappy. He's in love with you. No doubt
about it."

Nan, on her part, had nothing to s