in
fact, in great danger of developing into a kind of walking _Rapid
Review_ of other people's judgments and opinions. He examined nothing
for himself; his standard of the things to be attained in this world
was fixed and unalterable; to have an unalterable standard at
twenty-one is to condemn oneself to folly for life.

And now, as he was dressing for dinner, two things occupied his mind:
firstly, his father; in the second place, the situation that he was to
face in half-an-hour's time.

With regard to his father, Robin was terribly afraid that he was one of
the Others. He had had his suspicions from the first--that violent
entry, the loud voice and the hearty laugh, the bad-fitting clothes,
and the perpetual chatter at dinner; it had all been noisy, unusual,
even a little vulgar. But his behaviour at tea that afternoon had
grieved Robin very much. How could he be so rude to the light and
leading of Fallacy Street? It could only have been through ignorance;
it could only have been because he really did not know how truly great
the Miss Ponsonbys were. But then, to spend all his time with the
Bethels, strange, odd people, with the queerest manners and an
uncertain history, whom Fallacy Street had decided to cut!

No, Robin was very much afraid that his father must be ranked with the
Others. He had not expected very much after all; New Zealand must be a
strange place on all accounts; but his father seemed to show no desire
to improve, he seemed quite happy and contented, and scarcely realised,
apparently, the seriousness of his mistakes.

But, after all, the question of his father was a very minor affair as
compared with the real problem that he must answer that evening. Robin
had met Dahlia Feverel in the summer of the preceding year at
Cambridge. He had thought her extremely beautiful and very
fascinating. Most of his college friends had ladies whom they adored;
it was considered quite a thing to do--and so Robin adored Dahlia.

No one knew anything about the Feverels. The mother was kept in the
background and the father was dead--there was really only Dahlia; and
when Robin was with her he never thought of questioning her as to
antecedents of earlier history. For two months he loved her
passionately, chiefly because he saw her very seldom. When he went
down at the end of the summer term he felt that she was the only thing
in the world worth living for. He became Byronic, scowled at Aunt
Clare, and