He did not call again.

Stephen had really come back for some tobacco, but as he passed under
the windows he thought of the poor fellow who had been "nipped" (nothing
serious, said Mrs. Failing), and determined to shout good-bye to him.
And once or twice, as he followed the river into the darkness, he
wondered what it was like to be so weak,--not to ride, not to swim, not
to care for anything but books and a girl.

They embraced passionately. The danger had brought them very near to
each other. They both needed a home to confront the menacing tumultuous
world. And what weary years of work, of waiting, lay between them and
that home! Still holding her fast, he said, "I was writing to Ansell
when you came in."

"Do you owe him a letter?"

"No." He paused. "I was writing to tell him about this. He would help
us. He always picks out the important point."

"Darling, I don't like to say anything, and I know that Mr. Ansell
would keep a secret, but haven't we picked out the important point for
ourselves?"

He released her and tore the letter up.

XV

The sense of purity is a puzzling and at times a fearful thing. It seems
so noble, and it starts as one with morality. But it is a dangerous
guide, and can lead us away not only from what is gracious, but also
from what is good. Agnes, in this tangle, had followed it blindly,
partly because she was a woman, and it meant more to her than it
can ever mean to a man; partly because, though dangerous, it is also
obvious, and makes no demand upon the intellect. She could not feel that
Stephen had full human rights. He was illicit, abnormal, worse than a
man diseased. And Rickie remembering whose son he was, gradually adopted
her opinion. He, too, came to be glad that his brother had passed from
him untried, that the symbolic moment had been rejected. Stephen was the
fruit of sin; therefore he was sinful, He, too, became a sexual snob.

And now he must hear the unsavoury details. That evening they sat in the
walled garden. Agues, according to arrangement, left him alone with his
aunt. He asked her, and was not answered.

"You are shocked," she said in a hard, mocking voice, "It is very nice
of you to be shocked, and I do not wish to grieve you further. We will
not allude to it again. Let us all go on just as we are. The comedy is
finished."

He could not tolerate this. His nerves were shattered, and all that was
good in him revolted as well. To the horror of Agnes, w