“Yes,” he said, “you are the nest.” “I’ll watch it!” she cried. “Then you shall sleep on thorns, Mister.” “But consider,” he said. “That’s what I am doing,” she replied. “Mr Dionysus and Mr Hermes and Mr Thinks-himself-grand. I’ve got one thing to tell you. Without _me_ you’d be nowhere, you’d be nothing, you’d not be _that_,” and she snapped her fingers under his nose, a movement he particularly disliked. “I agree,” he replied, “that without the nest the phœnix would be--would be up a tree--would be in the air--would be nowhere, and couldn’t find a stable spot to resurrect in. The nest is as the body to the soul: the cup that holds the fire, and in which the ashes fall to take form again. The cup is the container and the sustainer.” “Yes, I’ve done enough containing and sustaining of you, my gentleman, in the years I’ve known you. It’s almost time you left off wanting so much mothering. You can’t live a moment without me.” “I admit that the phœnix without a nest is a bird absolutely without a perch, he must dissipate in the air. But--” “Then I’ll make a cushion-cover of your flag, and you can rest on that.” “No, I’m going to haul down the flag of perfect love.” “Oh, are you! And sail without a flag? Just like you, destroy, destroy, and nothing to put in its place.” “Yes, I want to put in its place this crowned phœnix rising from the nest in flames. I want to set fire to our bark, _Harriet and Lovat_, and out of the ashes construct the frigate _Hermes_, which name still contains the same reference, _her_ and _me_, but which has a higher total significance.” She looked at him speechless for some time. Then she merely said: “You’re mad,” and left him with his flag in his hands. Nevertheless he was a determined little devil, as she knew to her cost, and once he’d got an idea into his head not heaven nor hell nor Harriet would ever batter it out. And now he’d got into his head this idea of being lord and master, and Harriet’s acknowledging him as such. Not just verbally. No. Not under the flag of perfect love. No. Obstinate and devilish as he was, he wanted to haul down the flag of perfect love, to set fire to the bark _Harriet and Lovat_, to seat himself in glory on the ashes, like a resurrected phœnix, with an imaginary crown on his head. And she was to be a comfortable nest for his impertinence.