of that.
They wanted it, both of them, dreadfully. But should they marry on these
terms?

"I'd never thought of such a thing, you see. When the scholastic
agencies sent me circulars after the Tripos, I tore them up at once."

"There are the holidays," said Agnes. "You would have three months in
the year to yourself, and you could do your writing then."

"But who'll read what I've written?" and he told her about the editor of
the "Holborn."

She became extremely grave. At the bottom of her heart she had always
mistrusted the little stories, and now people who knew agreed with her.
How could Rickie, or any one, make a living by pretending that Greek
gods were alive, or that young ladies could vanish into trees? A
sparkling society tale, full of verve and pathos, would have been
another thing, and the editor might have been convinced by it.

"But what does he mean?" Rickie was saying. "What does he mean by life?"

"I know what he means, but I can't exactly explain. You ought to see
life, Rickie. I think he's right there. And Mr. Tilliard was right when
he said one oughtn't to be academic."

He stood in the twilight that fell from the window, she in the twilight
of the gas. "I wonder what Ansell would say," he murmured.

"Oh, poor Mr. Ansell!"

He was somewhat surprised. Why was Ansell poor? It was the first time
the epithet had been applied to him.

"But to change the conversation," said Agnes.

"If we did marry, we might get to Italy at Easter and escape this
horrible fog."

"Yes. Perhaps there--" Perhaps life would be there. He thought of Renan,
who declares that on the Acropolis at Athens beauty and wisdom do exist,
really exist, as external powers. He did not aspire to beauty or wisdom,
but he prayed to be delivered from the shadow of unreality that had
begun to darken the world. For it was as if some power had pronounced
against him--as if, by some heedless action, he had offended an Olympian
god. Like many another, he wondered whether the god might be appeased by
work--hard uncongenial work. Perhaps he had not worked hard enough,
or had enjoyed his work too much, and for that reason the shadow was
falling.

"--And above all, a schoolmaster has wonderful opportunities for doing
good; one mustn't forget that."

To do good! For what other reason are we here? Let us give up our
refined sensations, and our comforts, and our art, if thereby we can
make other people happier and better. The woman he loved h