“No, but a fellow can’t talk about it. Only, one thing, Maradick, that struck me as awfully funny, the way that she accepted everything. When I told her about my people, of course I expected her to be awfully disappointed. But she seemed to understand at once and accepted it as the natural thing. So that if it comes to running away she is quite prepared.” “If it comes to running away!” The words at once brought the whole situation to a point, and Maradick’s responsibility hit him in the face like a sudden blow from the dark. For a moment fear caught him by the throat; he wanted, wildly, to fling off the whole thing, to catch the next train back to Epsom, to get away from this strange place that was dragging him, as it were, with a ghostly finger, into a whirlpool, a quagmire; anything was treacherous and dangerous and destructive. And then he knew, in the next instant, that though he might go back to Epsom and his office and all the drudgery of it, he would never be the same man again, he could never be the same man again. He knew now that the only thing in the world worth having was love—this town had shown him that—and that, for it, all the other things must go. This boy had found it and he must help him to keep it. He, Maradick, had found it; there were friends of his here—Tony, Mrs. Lester—and he couldn’t go back to the loneliness of his old life with the memory of these weeks. “Look here,” he gripped Tony’s arm, “I don’t suppose I ought to have anything to do with it. Any man in his senses would tell your people, and there’d be an end of the whole thing; but I gave you my word before and I’ll go on with it. Besides, I’ve seen the girl. I’d fall in love with her myself, Tony, if I were your age, and I don’t want you to miss it all and make a damned muddle of your life just because you weren’t brave enough or because there wasn’t anyone to help you.” “By Jove, Maradick, you’re a brick. I can’t tell you how I feel about it, about her and you and everything, a chap hasn’t got words; only, of course, it’s going forward. You see, you couldn’t tell my people after all that you’ve done—you wouldn’t, you know; and as I’d go on whether you left me or no you may just as well help me. And then I’m awfully fond of you; I like you better than I’ve ever liked any man, you’re such an understanding fellow.” Tony took breath a moment. Then he went on—