ps one way, turn, six steps
back. He moved slowly, his chin sunk on his chest, and his hands
twisting restlessly behind his back. Supposing she was right,
supposing in a year, or in five, she should turn on him, and say:
"Against my better judgment you overruled me. Even though I loved you,
even though I still love you--you have made me buy my happiness at too
great a price?"

Supposing she should say that--what then? Had he any right to make her
run such a risk? Was it fair? Again and again he turned question and
answer over in his brain. Of course it was fair--they loved one
another; and love is the biggest thing in the universe. But was it
only love in his case--was it not overmastering passion as well?
Well--what if it was; there are cases where the two cannot be
separated--and those cases are more precious than rubies. Against such
it were laughable to put the fate of Blandford. . . . Quite--but whose
point of view was that--his or hers?

Vane was essentially a fair man. The average Englishman is made that
way--it being the peculiar nature of the brute. If anything--as a
referee or a judge--he will give the decision against his own side,
which is the reason why England has spread to the ends of the earth,
and remained there at the express wish of the Little Peoples. Bias or
favouritism are abhorrent to him; as far as in him lies the Englishman
weighs the pros and the cons of the case and gives his decision without
partiality or prejudice. He may blunder at times, but the blunder is
honest and is recognised as such.

And so as Vane walked restlessly up and down his room, every instinct
in him revolted at the idea of taking advantage of an emotional crisis
such as he knew had been stirred in Joan that evening. It seemed to
him to be unfair.

"It's her you've got to consider," he said to himself over and over
again. "Only her. . . . It's she who stands to lose--much more than
you."

He felt that he would go right away, clean out of her life--if, by
doing so, it would help her. But would it? That was the crux. Was he
justified in letting her make this sacrifice? As clearly as if he had
seen it written in letters of fire upon the wall, he knew that the
issue lay in his hands.

Once again he went to the window and looked out. In the east the first
streaks of dawn were showing in the sky, and for a long while he stood
staring at them, motionless. How often in France had he watched that
same