“I must confess that I do not. Either you have lost your reason, or I have. I wish you had never taking to reading ‘Faust.’” “It is my fault. I began an explanation, and rambled off, womanlike, into praise of my lover. However, I will not attempt to complete my argument; for if you do not understand me from what I have already said, the further you follow the wider you will wander. The truth, in short, is this: I practically believe in the doctrine of heredity; and as my body is frail and my brain morbidly active, I think my impulse towards a man strong in body and untroubled in mind a trustworthy one. You can understand that; it is a plain proposition in eugenics. But if I tell you that I have chosen this common pugilist because, after seeing half the culture of Europe, I despaired of finding a better man, you will only tell me again that I have lost my reason.” “I know that you will do whatever you have made up your mind to do,” said Lucian, desolately. “And you will make the best of it, will you not?” “The best or the worst of it does not rest with me. I can only accept it as inevitable.” “Not at all. You can make the worst of it by behaving distantly to Cashel; or the best of it by being friendly with him.” Lucian reddened and hesitated. She looked at him, mutely encouraging him to be generous. “I had better tell you,” he said. “I have seen him since--since--” Lydia nodded. “I mistook his object in coming into my room as he did, unannounced. In fact, he almost forced his way in. Some words arose between us. At last he taunted me beyond endurance, and offered me--characteristically--twenty pounds to strike him. And I am sorry to say that I did so.” “You did so! And what followed?” “I should say rather that I meant to strike him; for he avoided me, or else I missed my aim. He only gave the money and went away, evidently with a high opinion of me. He left me with a very low one of myself.” “What! He did not retaliate!” exclaimed Lydia, recovering her color, which had fled. “And you STRUCK him!” she added. “He did not,” replied Lucian, passing by the reproach. “Probably he despised me too much.” “That is not fair, Lucian. He behaved very well--for a prize-fighter! Surely you do not grudge him his superiority in the very art you condemn him for professing.” “I was wrong, Lydia; but I grudged him you. I know I have acted hastily; and I will apologize to him. I wish matters had fallen out otherwise.” “They could not have done so; and I believe you will yet acknowledge that they have arranged themselves very well. And now that the phoenix is disposed of, I want to read you a letter I have received from Alice Goff, which throws quite a new light on her character. I have not seen her since June, and she seems to have gained three years’ mental growth in the interim. Listen to this, for example.” And so the conversation turned upon Alice.