k--and has overdone it, as
decent people generally do. He's even altering to talk to. Yet he's not
been married a year. Pembroke and that wife simply run him. I don't see
why they should, and no more do you; and that's why I want you to go to
Sawston, if only for one night."

Ansell shook his head, and looked up at the dome as other men look at
the sky. In it the great arc lamps sputtered and flared, for the month
was again November. Then he lowered his eyes from the cold violet
radiance to the books.

"No, Widdrington; no. We don't go to see people because they are happy
or unhappy. We go when we can talk to them. I cannot talk to Rickie,
therefore I will not waste my time at Sawston."

"I think you're right," said Widdrington softly. "But we are bloodless
brutes. I wonder whether-If we were different people--something might be
done to save him. That is the curse of being a little intellectual. You
and our sort have always seen too clearly. We stand aside--and meanwhile
he turns into stone. Two philosophic youths repining in the British
Museum! What have we done? What shall we ever do? Just drift and
criticize, while people who know what they want snatch it away from us
and laugh."

"Perhaps you are that sort. I'm not. When the moment comes I shall hit
out like any ploughboy. Don't believe those lies about intellectual
people. They're only written to soothe the majority. Do you suppose,
with the world as it is, that it's an easy matter to keep quiet? Do
you suppose that I didn't want to rescue him from that ghastly woman?
Action! Nothing's easier than action; as fools testify. But I want to
act rightly."

"The superintendent is looking at us. I must get back to my work."

"You think this all nonsense," said Ansell, detaining him. "Please
remember that if I do act, you are bound to help me."

Widdrington looked a little grave. He was no anarchist. A few plaintive
cries against Mrs. Elliot were all that he prepared to emit.

"There's no mystery," continued Ansell. "I haven't the shadow of a plan
in my head. I know not only Rickie but the whole of his history: you
remember the day near Madingley. Nothing in either helps me: I'm just
watching."

"But what for?"

"For the Spirit of Life."

Widdrington was surprised. It was a phrase unknown to their philosophy.
They had trespassed into poetry.

"You can't fight Medusa with anything else. If you ask me what the
Spirit of Life is, or to what it is attached, I c