For the lad, tall and athletic, with a trick of blushing, had yet to find himself. The pages of his life, so far, were singularly blank. He had the sensitive nostrils and frank gaze of a man susceptible—almost too susceptible—to influence and impressions, yet good breeding had often made him elude opportunities which less artistic natures coveted. That beauty of any kind would sway him you saw at a glance; beauty of soul and shape, Divine and human. Had he not in certain instances been kept back by the fitness of things, he would have invariably given himself joyously to its influence, as a swimmer to the sea, playing with it, while knowing that it had the power to drown. His eyes were a dreamer’s eyes, able to see the Beatific Vision on Clapham Common—a faculty not often met with in a man so broad of chest and lean of flank. So far as personal courage went, Cummings’ might have carried him through almost any form of mediæval torture, except the deprivation of his means of washing. At Eton and Sandhurst he had passed through many dubious escapades unscathed, delightfully blind to "scum and rot," as he mentally summed up certain vagaries of his companions. But he was now of the age which believes worldly experience to be a necessary factor of life. In the last few days he had begun to be ashamed of his own ignorance of inessential things. It diverted Brand to play with, some said corrupt, such natures. He had won the lad as tactfully as a woman might have done, luring him step by step until confidence was established. Once that was done, the rest was easy. Little by little the sanctuary of Cummings’ thoughts was invaded; his circumstances, his surroundings, his hopes betrayed, until his soul lay naked in the day. Another man, with so definite an end in view as Brand had, might have hastened matters and spoilt all. He made no such mistake. "Looks and means," he said now dreamily, in the quiet high-bred voice, which was one of his most valuable assets. "You ought to do well in life, with both in your grasp. Few women withstand either, and none both; and later on you’ll realize that success in life nearly always augurs a swish of frills and furbelows in the background." He looked at Cummings critically. "Remember what wins women wins fame. She’s wanton too. You have more than your share of good things, my dear fellow. The only point you really lack is confidence, the recognition that you can hold your own as well in a crowd as in a _tête-à-tête_. If a man doesn’t believe in himself he’ll never get even a woman to believe in him."