“Felt that the most disreputable thing about most prodigals is the method of their returning. They leave all the women they’ve deceived and all their bastards in the Far Country with the swine and the husks, while they hobble home to forgiveness and luxury. Simply because they acknowledge the obvious--that they’ve sinned and disgraced their fathers--they expect to escape the rewards of their profligacy. It’s cheap, Halloway. You speak as though marriage will re-instate your morals. A man should be able to bring a clean record to the woman he marries.” The off-hand manner in which he referred to his villainies had made me cold with a sense of justice. His lolling, fashionably attired person and his glib assertion that he had done with that way of life, roused my anger when I remembered his idiot son and the scene on the esplanade. He regarded me with a friendly man-of-the-world smile, pointing his delicate fingers one against the other. I would have liked him better had he shown resentment. “You make things hard,” he objected. “If everyone thought as you do, there’d be no incentive for reformation. The man who had been a little wild would never be anything else. According to your way of thinking, he’d be more estimable as a rake than as the father of a family. You shut the door against all coming back.” He spoke reasonably, trying to lift what had started as a personal attack, on to the impartial plane of a sociological discussion. “It’s the unfairness of it that irks me,” I said. “You tempt a girl and leave her to her disgrace. She bears both her own and your share of the scandal, while you scramble back into respectability. If you brought her back with you, I shouldn’t object. But, after you’ve persuaded her to go down into the pit, you draw up the ladder and walk away.” He gave his high-pitched laugh. “That’s how the world’s made. It’s none of my doing. If I married one of these girls, neither of us would be happy. One of these days I shall be Earl of Lovegrove. They’re better as they are. You know that, surely?” “I suppose so.” “Then, why prevent me, when I’m trying to get on to higher ground? I know I’ve been a rotter. I’ve made a mess of things. I don’t need anyone to remind me.” I held out my hand, saying, “I’ve been censorious. I’m sorry.” After this he dropped in often to see me. He was coaching the Lazarus toggers that autumn; his usual time for calling was between four and five, on his way up from the river. I got to know him well and to look for him. His big robustness and high color filled the student atmosphere of my room with an air of outdoor vitality. He was always cheerful. And yet I could not get away from the idea that he was making use of me for some undisclosed purpose. He was an egoist at heart--a charming egoist. Much of his conversation turned about himself. “Now that you know me better, do you still think that I’m barred from marriage?” he would ask.