But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, because her knees were bending under her—drove this home to him. He was appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years was brought to life by that blow. “My dear—my dear—don't look at me like that—I did not mean anything—I am not angry—I am terribly ashamed.... Please—” His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. She took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him fixedly. “You never struck me before, Freddie,” she said. “At least, you have never done that. I am so sorry, my dear.” Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then she went slowly out of the room. He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark buildings. “Curse the place! It is that—it has done for me....” And then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to the shadowy room, “I am no good—I am no good at all!” CHAPTER X—THE BATTLE OF THE UMBRELLA; “WHOM THE GODS WISH TO DESTROY....” I. DURING the month that followed, the battle raged furiously, and within a week of that original incident there was no one in the establishment who had not his or her especial grievance against someone else. In the Senior common room, at the middle morning hour, the whole staff might be seen, silent, grave, bending with sheer resolution over the daily papers, eloquent backs turned to their enemies, every now and again abstract sarcasm designed for some very concrete resting-place. That original umbrella had, long ago, been forgotten, or, rather the original borrowing of it. It had now become a flag, a banner—something that stood for any kind of principle that it might serve one's purpose to support. One hated one's neighbor—well, let any small detail be the provocation, the battle was the thing. Imagine, moreover, the effect on the young generation, assembled to watch and imitate the thoughts and actions of their elders and betters; what a delightful and admirable system!—with their Greek accents and verbs in with their principal parts of savior and dire and their conclusive decisions concerning vulgar fractions and the imports and exports of Sardinia, they should learn the delicate art of cutting your neighbor, of hating your fellow-creatures, of malicious misconception—all this within so small an area of ground, so slight a period of time, at so wonderfully inconsiderable an expense.