In addition to very many acquaintanceships, both in London and the
country, that were pleasant even if they did not occupy the centre of
his consciousness, he had the friendship of Lady Thiselton and the
more intimate though less fantastic relation with the Medhursts. And,
moreover, he was in love with a beautiful and talented girl, who, he
modestly felt, had a great esteem for him--though any other eyes than
those of the diffident lover would have seen at a glance that she
loved him in return.

How could all these things fail to make a man happy, especially when
the man was only twenty-eight years old?

But Morgan's happiness was dependent on his attitude towards things,
not on the things themselves. And just now he but perceived all these
elements that might have made another life enviable as so many
ironies. His ambition--his self-realisation and its recognition by his
fellows--had been all in all to him; its abandonment had been the
culmination of anguish infinite. The best years of his youth had been
lost in vain effort, and some of the bitterness of early opposition
that success might have purged still lingered in his spirit. His
nature was proud and sensitive and his very failure made it impossible
for him to ask for more money, even though he knew it would be
forthcoming without stint. What wonder now if he perceived his life as
a tragedy!

Common Sense would have advised him to put on one side all emotions
and moods that arose out of and summed up the past, all the subtle
feelings that possessed and mastered him; would have urged him to
begin a new epoch, seek the paternal aid, retain his friendships, and
persevere in his love; would have given him assurance of a perfectly
satisfactory outlook if he would but readjust his mental focus.

But Common Sense is obtuse and safe. Morgan was a mass of fine
sensibility; his temperament was full of subtle light and
shade--therefore dangerous. Plain-souled, clumsy-handed Common Sense,
with perception limited to the thick outlines of character, could not
have comprehended him, and would unwittingly have confessed it by
classifying him contemptuously.

Morgan had lived his own life--felt it. His present estimation of it
was, therefore, spontaneous; not a cold estimation by mere intellect,
but a living one by his whole complex being. And, as the result, he
was meditating, at this period of pause and summing-up, to carry
forward all that Common Sense would have suppre