“There’s not a doubt you will. But as the tale came from the lady’s lips to me, it seemed surprising. I’d no idea, until she told me, that I was so old in sin and dear Tom so young. It seemed that I had corrupted the boy’s fresh innocence; that I had even taught him how to write--especially other people’s names. To me it sounded odd. I had met young Tom; I was beginning to wonder if his sister ever had. I knew something of his history; one could scarcely credit that she knew anything at all. However, one was glad to learn that so fair a lady had so excellent a brother, though it seemed unfortunate that he should have such curious associates. Of one of them she was giving her opinion, to the extent of several volumes, when once more the door was opened, this time, I really think, without any preliminary knocking; for I am incapable of suggesting that the lady’s voice could by any possibility have drowned even a rapping of the knuckles. My brother was the interrupter--the uninvited, unwelcome interrupter, of our _tête-à-tête_. “Then I knew that the end had come; that the game was blown upon; that the music would have to be faced. I knew this in an instant. It was written large all over him. He had a trick, when he was in a rage, of seeming to swell; as if the wind of his passion had distended him. I had never seen him look so large before. He was trembling--not with fear. His fingers were opening and closing--as they were apt to do when the muscles which controlled them reached the point of working by themselves. His lips were parted; he drew great breaths; his eyes had moved forward in his head. It did not need more than a single glance at him to enable me to understand that he had learned that I had lied, and that now had come the tug of war. “I cannot say if he noticed that I was with a lady. He did not acknowledge her presence if he did, not even by so much as the removal of his hat. So soon as he saw me he began to edge his way into the room, with little, awkward, jerky movements, which experience had taught me were the invariable preliminaries to an outburst of insensate fury. ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’ He repeated the three words, as if he were speaking half to himself and half to me, in a husky voice, which was not nice to hear. “My first thought was of The Goddess!” As if he had had, from the beginning, an eye to what would be the proper dramatic effect, when he got so far, Lawrence, with a hasty movement towards the daïs, struck the crimson screen, so that it came clattering forward on to the floor. Extending his arms on either side of him, he cried: “Behold! The Goddess!”