“The dirt and the poverty,” said Quentin, “the factories and the brothels, the advertisements, the bankruptcy courts, the demure women who know the game of love—I agree. I hate this calm, this perfection. What you say is true. There are no arcs here, consequently no perfect rounds to long for.” “Oh, for some work to do!” cried Fulke. “A world to redeem from the clutches of industrialism—a State to build—a race to create!” “I am with you in the last item only,” said Quentin, putting out his crisp, curly beard. “At all events,” summed up Sprot with enthusiasm, “we hate this neighbourhood. We are all for returning to the ship. But first, how to get rid of this Chink, this Yuan?” “I could knife him, if necessary,” said Quentin, with a certain genuine earnestness. “Why not?” asked Sprot. “Nobody would know. It’s often done in these Asiatic countries. There are no police here. But first—evidence. Lychnis must be watched.” Fulke swung round. “You damned, newt-livered, beetle-tongued, slug-sticky, crawling miasma! Use Lychnis, will you? Besmirch her reputation because you’re unhappy away from your kennel? My God! if I hear her name on your slime-coated tongue one single time again, I’ll drag your entrails out through your eye-sockets!” “He’s in a temper,” explained Quentin. “He’s in love—but hopelessly, I fear.” Fulke looked at him with a light in his eyes like a sullen sunset drowning in a tide of misery. “Oh!” he cried, “you’re not capable of love. You’re not clean men. And I that am clean am of all of you the most miserable. I hate life!” He broke off, and made for the house. He met Ruby coming out, and once more a circuit of emotion was established between them. “Where’s Lychnis?” she asked, with some anxiety. The others listened. “Heaven knows,” he answered. “Can’t you find her?” On investigation it turned out that Lychnis had disappeared. There was no sign of her anywhere. “Where can she be?” asked Ruby, with tears in her voice. They all stood on the lawn staring over the Lake like men who have lost a vision. Sombrewater and Frew-Gaff, returning late from a geological expedition in the mountains, were met with the intelligence by an almost elated Sprot. “I knew it,” said the little man. “I have warned you, Lord Sombrewater.” Lord Sombrewater turned and stared at him so that he began fumbling with his collar. “You have warned me of what?” He had nothing to say. “Be so good as to keep your thoughts to yourself.” Lord Sombrewater went abruptly into the Pavilion. 29