The machine in the middle moving on its business; shadows like you
and me skipping in front; oil and used-up stuff dropping behind.
Society-body, beak, and bones."

Stephen took time to answer. "That's rather far-fetched," he said. "You
mean these Hughs and people are the droppings?"

"Quite so," was Hilary's sardonic answer. "There's the body of that
fellow and his car between our sort and them--and no getting over it,
Stevie."

"Well, who wants to? If you're thinking of our old friend's Fraternity,
I'm not taking any." And Stephen suddenly added: "Look here, I believe
this affair is all 'a plant.'"

"You see that Powder Magazine?" said Hilary. "Well, this business that
you call a 'plant' is more like that. I don't want to alarm you, but I
think you as well as our young friend Martin, are inclined to underrate
the emotional capacity of human nature."

Disquietude broke up the customary mask on Stephen's face: "I don't
understand," he stammered.

"Well, we're none of us machines, not even amateurs like me--not even
under-dogs like Hughs. I fancy you may find a certain warmth, not to say
violence, about this business. I tell you frankly that I don't live in
married celibacy quite with impunity. I can't answer for anything, in
fact. You had better stand clear, Stephen--that's all."

Stephen marked his thin hands quivering, and this alarmed him as nothing
else had done.

They walked on beside the water. Stephen spoke quietly, looking at the
ground. "How can I stand clear, old man, if you are going to get into a
mess? That's impossible."

He saw at once that this shot, which indeed was from his heart, had
gone right home to Hilary's. He sought within him how to deepen the
impression.

"You mean a lot to us," he said. "Cis and Thyme would feel it awfully if
you and B.---" He stopped.

Hilary was looking at him; that faintly smiling glance, searching him
through and through, suddenly made Stephen feel inferior. He had been
detected trying to extract capital from the effect of his little piece
of brotherly love. He was irritated at his brother's insight.

"I have no right to give advice, I suppose," he said; "but in my opinion
you should drop it--drop it dead. The girl is not worth your looking
after. Turn her over to that Society--Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace's thing
whatever it's called."

At a sound as of mirth Stephen, who was not accustomed to hear his
brother laugh, looked round.

"Martin," said Hilary, "a