Pleasing himself, I pointed out, was a far different thing from changing his mind at the last minute. Then he said, with a touch of sharpness: "Look here, I'm fed up with all this talk. I don't understand what you're arguing about.... What's the game? Why are you so damned keen on getting me sent off to Vienna?" I told him that I wasn't keen at all, but rather the contrary, so far as I personally was concerned. "It's just," I said, "that I don't want you to make a hash of things." "A _hash_ of things? What do you mean?" His less passive attitude made it easier for me to come to the somewhat delicate point. I asked him straightforwardly if he were going to continue seeing Helen as much as he had been doing. The question seemed to galvanize him into something like fierceness; he retorted instantly: "Yes, just as much, and perhaps even more!" We were both silent for a while, and I wondered hazily what I should say, what arguments I could use, how the matter ought to be tackled. In the end I began where the argument should have stopped; I said, almost in desperation: "But, Terry--can't you see how--how utterly _impossible_ it is?" "What is utterly impossible?" "That you and Helen--should go on--as you are doing." I waited for him to reply, and when he didn't, I continued: "Can't you see that when a woman asks you--makes you promise--to put _her_ before your work.... Can't you see that her asking you _not_ to go to Vienna is just a reason--an additional reason--why you _should_ go?" He tried to see; I could see him trying to see; but what he saw was something different--some strange and secret vision of his own. "You don't understand," he said haltingly. "There's nothing I can say to make you understand, either. You'd far better not worry about it.... Helen--in a sort of way--needs me--here, and I'm going to stay." "She needs you?" "Yes." "How does she need you?" He flashed back: "You're forcing me to say something that sounds conceited. But it's true, all the same. She needs me because--because I'm teaching her--I'm helping her to realize--that life isn't--just money--and pleasure--and idleness!" And there he was, revealed at last--in his own eyes the missionary, the evangelist, converting her from frivolity to the true faith in Koch, Kelvin, and Lister. There was pride and triumph in his voice, and, looking back on it now, I believe that he was perfectly sincere. But at the time it angered me; I lost my temper. "Damn it all," I cried, "I _will_ tell you what I think, whether it offends you or not. You're behaving like a fool--or else like a cad--I can't be quite certain which.... Talk about _teaching_ her and _helping her to realize_--why don't you tell the truth and admit that you're head over ears in love with her? ... It's bad enough to play the fool with another man's wife, but to talk highbrow bunkum about it seems to me pretty near the limit!"