Oh, these men of this awful conventional world! How cruel they can be in that proud desire to do what is right!--what their code tells them is right!--no law of God or nature that!--only convention, the dictates of other men! Hard on themselves, selfless in abnegation, but not understanding that the dearest gift they can bestow on a woman is the right for her to efface herself, the right for her to be the giver of love, of consolation, of sacrifice. Commonplace, plain, sensible Louisa understood everything that Luke felt; those great luminous eyes of hers, tearless yet brilliant, read every line on that face drilled into impassiveness. No one else could have guessed the precise moment at which softness crept into the hard determination of jaw and lips; no ear but hers could ever have perceived the subtle change in the quivering breath, from hard obstinacy that drew the nostrils together, and set every line of the face, to that in-drawing of the heavy air around caused by passionate longing which hammered at the super-excited brain, and made the sinews crack in the mighty physical effort at self-repression. But to all outward appearance perfect calm, correct demeanour, the attitude and tone of voice prescribed by the usages of this so-called society. "Lou," he said, "it is not fair to tempt me. I should be a miserable cur if I held you to your word. I am a penniless beggar--a wastrel now, without a profession, without prospects, soon to be without friends." He seemed to take pleasure in recalling his defects, and she let him ramble on; women who are neither psychological puzzles nor interesting personalities have a way of listening patiently whilst a tortured soul eases its burden by contemplating its own martyrdom. "I am a penniless beggar," he reiterated. "I have no right to ask any woman to share my future dull and humdrum existence. A few thousands is all I have. I think that Edie will marry soon and then I can go abroad--I must go abroad--I must do something----" "We'll do it together, Luke." "I feel," he continued, rebellious now and wrathful, all the primary instincts alive in him of self-preservation and the desire to destroy an enemy, "I feel that if I stayed in England I should contrive to be even with that blackguard. His rights? By God! I would never question those. The moment I knew that he was Uncle Arthur's son I should have been ready to shake him by the hand, to respect him, to stand aside as was his due. But his attitude!--the influence he exercises over Uncle Rad!--his rancour against us all! Jim and Edie! what had they done to be all turned out of the house like a pack of poor relations--and poor Uncle Rad----" He checked himself, for she had put a hand on his coat sleeve. "Luke, it is no use," she said. "You are right, Lou! and I am a miserable wretch. If you only knew how I hate that man----" "Don't," she said, "let us think of him." "How can I help it? He robs me of you." "No," she rejoined, "not that."