verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo
drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the
treacherous sunshine. White men never went abroad without helmets.
The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an
invitation to sunstroke.

Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively.
For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the
background. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he became
what he had once been normally, a lovable boy.

McClintock was amused. He began really to like Spurlock, despite
the shadow of the boy's past, despite his inexplicable attitude
toward this glorious girl. To be sure, he was attentive,
respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless
_camaraderie_ of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang
if all the world knew it. If the boy did not love the girl, why the
devil had he dragged her into this marriage?

Spurlock was a bit shaky bodily, but his brain was functioning
clearly; and, it might be added, swiftly--as the brain always acts
when confronted by a perplexing riddle. No matter how swiftly he
pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. Why had Ruth
married _him_? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was
that. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not
love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. Had she too been flying
from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what
frying-pan could be equal to this fire?

All this led him back to the original circle. He saw the colossal
selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of
abnormality. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected
every thought that had led up to it and every act that had
consummated the deed.

To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense
echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which
tore at his vitals. To make Ruth pay for the whole shot! To wash
away his sin by crucifying her: that was precisely what he had set
about. And God had let him do it! He was--and now he perfectly
understood that he was--treading the queerest labyrinth a man had
ever entered.

Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor
passion--utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. He
had kissed his wife on the mouth ... and had been horrified! There
was real madness somewhere along this road.

He was unaw