h delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree----'"

Gregory turned on him.

"How can you quote poetry, and hold the views you do? We ought to
construct----"

"You want to build before you've laid your foundations," said Mr.
Paramor. "You let your feelings carry you away, Vigil. The state of the
marriage laws is only a symptom. It's this disease, this grudging narrow
spirit in men, that makes such laws necessary. Unlovely men, unlovely
laws--what can you expect?"

"I will never believe that we shall be content to go on living in a
slough of--of----"

"Provincialism!" said Mr. Paramor. "You should take to gardening; it
makes one recognise what you idealists seem to pass over--that men, my
dear friend, are, like plants, creatures of heredity and environment;
their growth is slow. You can't get grapes from thorns, Vigil, or figs
from thistles--at least, not in one generation--however busy and hungry
you may be!"

"Your theory degrades us all to the level of thistles."

"Social laws depend for their strength on the harm they have it in their
power to inflict, and that harm depends for its strength on the ideals
held by the man on whom the harm falls. If you dispense with the
marriage tie, or give up your property and take to Brotherhood, you'll
have a very thistley time, but you won't mind that if you're a fig.
And so on ad lib. It's odd, though, how soon the thistles that thought
themselves figs get found out. There are many things I hate, Vigil. One
is extravagance, and another humbug!"

But Gregory stood looking at the sky.

"We seem to have wandered from the point," said Mr. Paramor, "and I
think we had better go in. It's nearly eleven."

Throughout the length of the low white house there were but three
windows lighted, three eyes looking at the moon, a fairy shallop sailing
the night sky. The cedar-trees stood black as pitch. The old brown owl
had ceased his hooting. Mr. Paramor gripped Gregory by the arm.

"A nightingale! Did you hear him down in that spinney? It's a sweet
place, this! I don't wonder Pendyce is fond of it. You're not a
fisherman, I think? Did you ever watch a school of fishes coasting along
a bank? How blind they are, and how they follow their leader! In our
element we men know just about as much as the fishes do. A blind lot,
Vigil! We take a mean view of things; we're damnably provincial!"

Gregory pressed his hands to his forehead.

"I'm trying to think," he said, "what will be th