“Worth it? Of course he’s worth it. One can see—you can’t, perhaps, but I can—why this has happened. She knows too. One gets a true perspective right down the aisle of all those straining, striving years through which he struggled. A boy of no physique, whose mind was a great question-mark, and a mighty desire to find the answer. That was all that mattered—Nature could go hang. He’s dragooned that body of his to carry the mind to the places where the answers might be found—worked, toiled, sweated, starved for that ideal, asking no help, accepting no charity, driving, driving forward on the fuel of his own brain. Then she came—the all-understanding she—and took half the burden from his shoulders, and built up his neglected body to the likeness of a man. Nature was coming back! She knew his ideals, and wanted him to realize them—gave up herself that he might realize them, for there was a promise in his eyes that she and the ideals might be one.” “Will it come true?” “God knows; but He does not put promises there for nothing. It’s all outside their reach now. Now Nature is taking a hand—cruel, tempting, thrilling old Nature. She’s found the untried subject, and is whispering her thousand impulses in his ear. Take your mind back, Quiltan. Can’t you remember how it was? Can’t you recall the first pretty face you kissed, for no better reason than a whisper of Nature’s that today it would be different from what it had been before. And wasn’t it different? And didn’t Nature whisper to you that night of a thousand other differences? And didn’t you tremble and wonder, and wasn’t curiosity alive in you? Oh, man, it comes to all of us sooner or later, and the later it comes the more devil there is to pay. A boy is young enough to be afraid and old enough to live clean; but a man is not afraid, and when his passions come to life they rule him through and through, and no damned power on earth can turn them aside.” “There isn’t much hope, then, for her.” “It looks like that. But we’ve got to try.” “Are you going to see him?” “Not for an instant.” “Then what?” “Don’t know. Perhaps something will turn up. But you’ll give her her chance?” Quiltan hesitated. “Come on, man!” “Very well.” “Word of honour?” “Word of honour.” “Good. Where can I find you tomorrow?” “You’ve got my card. I’ll stop in all day.” “There’s a good chap.” Quiltan rose and moved toward the door. “Good-bye, then.” “’Bye.” II Wynne rose from the breakfast table and took a step toward the window. Then he turned abruptly, as a man will who has something important to say. “Yes,” said Eve. He shook his head. “Nothing. I—er. No, nothing.” It was the first time he had spoken that morning. They had sat opposite each other in silence, and three times he had opened his lips as if about to speak, only to close them again.