The sudden sense of his impotence called back his words. He felt nothing but rage and indignation against the whole set of them, against the house they were in, the very table with the papers blowing upon it and the candle shining ... Well, it made his own affair more simple--that was certain. He must be off--right away from them all. Stay in the house with that fellow for a brother-in-law? Stay when ... "It's all right," said Thurston, moistening his pale dry lips with his tongue. "You'll see it in time. It's the best thing that could 'appen. And we've got more in common than you'd ever suppose. We 'ave, really. You're a religious man, really--can't escape your destiny, you know. There's religious and non-religious and it doesn't matter what your creed is, whether you're a Christian or a 'Ottentot, there it is. And if you're religious, you're religious. I may be the greatest humbug on the market, but I'm religious. It's like 'aving a 'are lip--you'll be bothered with it all your life." But what more Thurston may have said Martin did not hear: he had left the room, banging the door behind him. On what was his indignation based? Injured pride. And was he really indignant? Was not something within him elated, because by this he had been offered his freedom? Thurston marry his sister? ... He could go his own way now. Even his father could not expect him to remain. And he wanted Maggie--urgently, passionately. Standing for a moment there in the dark passage he wanted her. He was lonely, disregarded, despised.