He remembered that he had never known her to fail in sympathy for any living thing; had never detected in her an indifference to either the happiness or the sorrow of others. In his life he had never before believed that the command to love one's neighbour had in it anything more significant than the beauty of an immortal theory. He believed it now because, in her, he had seen it in effortless practice. He was even beginning to understand how it might be possible for him to follow where she led--as she, unconsciously, was a follower of a precept given to lead the world through eternities. Leaning on the closed piano, thinking of her in the still, sunny afternoons, faintly in his ears her voice seemed to sound; and he remembered her choice of ballads:-- --"For even the blind distinguisheth The king with his robe and crown; But only the humble eye of faith Beholdeth Jesus of Nazareth In the beggar's tattered gown. "I saw Him not in the mendicant And I heeded not his cry; Now Christ in His infinite mercy grant That the prayer I say in my day of want, Be not in scorn put by." No; he had never known her to be unkind, uncharitable, unforgiving; he had never known her to be insincere, untruthful, or envious. But the decalogue is no stronger than its weakest link. Was it in the heart of such a woman--this woman he loved--was it in the heart of this young girl to shatter it? He went on to Ashuelyn, confident of her and of himself, less confident of his sister--almost appalled at the prospect of reconciling his father and mother to this marriage that must surely be. Yet--so far in life--life had finally yielded to him what he fought for; and it must yield now; and in the end it would surely give him the loyalty and sympathy of his family. Which meant that Valerie would listen to him; and, in the certainty of his family's ultimate acquiescence, she would wear his ring and face with him the problems and the sorrows that must come to all. Cameron drove down to the station in the motor-car to meet him: "Hello, Genius," he said, patting Neville on the back with a pudgy hand. "How's your twin brother, Vice?" "Hello, you large and adipose object!" retorted Neville, seating himself in the tonneau. "How is that overworked, money-grubbing intellect of yours staggering along?" "Handicapped with precious thoughts; Ogilvy threw 'em into me when he was here. How's the wanton Muse, Louis? Sitting on your knees as usual?" "One arm around my neck," admitted Neville, "and the band playing 'Sweethearts.'" "Waiting for you to order inspiration cocktails. You're looking fit." "Am I? I haven't had one." "Oh, I thought you threw one every time you painted that pretty model of yours--" He looked sideways at Neville, but seeing that he was unreceptive, shrugged.