“Fellows like you feel that sort of thing always, even if they have a pocket full of coin. You see, you are too fastidious and sensitive to enjoy vice properly; and yet the queer thing is, it debases you sooner than it does men of coarser make, unless it kills you right off the reel, as it mostly does. Stronger men have things to keep them up, you fellows haven’t; they get brutalized if you like, but it is the brutalization of men, not of women.” Here Brydon winced, possibly Strange saw him—he took no notice, however, but went on coolly: “They don’t get rotten-soft, and corrupt. Another thing that’s against you; your father’s a parson, and his father before him, and your mother is a parson’s daughter.” “Yes—what on earth has that to do with it?” “A lot. With inherited conscience and spiritual feelings, and a sneaking regard for hell fire in every drop of your blood, things were sure to be made pretty hot for you in next to no time. Small wonder your work went to the devil!” “I suppose it’s all the brutal truth,” said Brydon. “Did you expect this?” he asked with sudden shyness. “Are you disappointed?” “I am too old ever to be disappointed in any fellow, probably there’s not a thing you have done I wouldn’t myself have done had I been in your skin. Now the question is, what’s to fit you for work again?” “I think,” said the boy dolefully, “the best thing I could do would be to cut my throat.” “If I felt like an ass I should hold my tongue about it, and take a blue pill. By the way, there’s some contradiction, for Blunt saw Legrun the other day, and he’s tremendously pleased with you.” “Oh, I took to swatting for a time, as a sop to Cerberus, and worked like the very devil at drawing, but somehow I’d rather get a kick any day, than praise, when I know my work’s dishonest, done to cover filth; it’s an insult to Art.” “My good boy, don’t be morbid! It was a good sight better to bring your lines into order than to do nothing.” “All the same, I have no satisfaction in any work done then.” “Ah, parson’s blood again—no need you should, but you needn’t add it to the list of your sins, that would be rather a work of supererogation, wouldn’t it?” “I would like to go out into the desert alone for forty days or so, and wrestle with anything that came along, God or the devil.” “A very proper attitude of mind and befitting your breed. In the meantime, when do you intend returning to Paris?” “I must go to-morrow.” “Why must you?” “Because——” he hesitated, blushing furiously. “Good Heavens, man, speak out! Have we been friends for fifteen years for nothing?” “Well, beastliness, however cheap you do it, is costly. Even your magnificent commission has gone down the gutter.” “It wouldn’t pay either of us for you to return there just now, besides, I want you to come over and stay at my house.”