Christopher felt his jaw drop. Not a second before--that very second!--he had made up his mind to ask Valentine Wannop to become his mistress that night. It was no good, any more, he said to himself. She loved him, he knew, with a deep; an unshakable passion, just as his passion for her was a devouring element that covered his whole mind as the atmosphere envelopes the earth. Were they, then, to go down to death separated by years, with no word ever spoken? To what end? For whose benefit? The whole world conspired to force them together! To resist became a weariness! His brother Mark was talking on. "I know all about women," he had announced. Perhaps he did. He had lived with exemplary fidelity to a quite unpresentable woman, for a number of years. Perhaps the complete study of one woman gave you a map of all the rest! Christopher said: "Look here, Mark. You had better go through all my pass-books for the last ten years. Or ever since I had an account. This discussion is no good if you don't believe what I say." Mark said: "I don't want to see your pass-books. I believe you." He added, a second later: "Why the devil shouldn't I believe you? It's either believing you're a gentleman or Ruggles a liar. It's only common-sense to believe Ruggles a liar, in that case. I didn't before because I had no grounds to." Christopher said: "I doubt if liar is the right word. He picked up things that were said against me. No doubt he reported them faithfully enough. Things _are_ said against me. I don't know why." "Because," Mark said with emphasis, "you treat these south country swine with the contempt that they deserve. They're incapable of understanding the motives of a gentleman. If you live among dogs they'll think you've the motives of a dog. What other motives can they give you?" He added: "I thought you'd been buried so long under their muck that you were as mucky as they!" Tietjens looked at his brother with the respect one has to give to a man ignorant but shrewd. It was a discovery: that his brother was shrewd. But, of course, he would be shrewd. He was the indispensable head of a great department. He had to have some qualities. . . . Not cultivated, not even instructed. A savage! But penetrating! "We must move on," he said, "or I shall have to take a cab." Mark detached himself from his half buried cannon. "What did you do with the other three thousand?" he asked. "Three thousand is a hell of a big sum to chuck away. For a younger son." "Except for some furniture I bought for my wife's rooms," Christopher said, "it went mostly in loans." "Loans!" Mark exclaimed. "To that fellow Macmaster?" "Mostly to him," Christopher answered. "But about seven hundred to Dicky Swipes, of Cullercoats." "Good God! Why to him?" Mark ejaculated. "Oh, because he was Swipes, of Cullercoats," Christopher said, "and asked for it. He'd have had more, only that was enough for him to drink himself to death on." Mark said: