Then Rickie was heroic no longer. Turning round in his chair, he covered his face. The man was right. He did not love him, even as he had never hated him. In either passion he had degraded him to be a symbol for the vanished past. The man was right, and would have been lovable. He longed to be back riding over those windy fields, to be back in those mystic circles, beneath pure sky. Then they could have watched and helped and taught each other, until the word was a reality, and the past not a torn photograph, but Demeter the goddess rejoicing in the spring. Ah, if he had seized those high opportunities! For they led to the highest of all, the symbolic moment, which, if a man accepts, he has accepted life. The voice of Agnes, which had lured him then (“For my sake,” she had whispered), pealed over him now in triumph. Abruptly it broke into sobs that had the effect of rain. He started up. The anger had died out of Stephen’s face, not for a subtle reason but because here was a woman, near him, and unhappy. She tried to apologize, and brought on a fresh burst of tears. Something had upset her. They heard her locking the door of her room. From that moment their intercourse was changed. “Why does she keep crying today?” mused Rickie, as if he spoke to some mutual friend. “I can make a guess,” said Stephen, and his heavy face flushed. “Did you insult her?” he asked feebly. “But who’s Gerald?” Rickie raised his hand to his mouth. “She looked at me as if she knew me, and then gasps ‘Gerald,’ and started crying.” “Gerald is the name of some one she once knew.” “So I thought.” There was a long silence, in which they could hear a piteous gulping cough. “Where is he now?” asked Stephen. “Dead.” “And then you—?” Rickie nodded. “Bad, this sort of thing.” “I didn’t know of this particular thing. She acted as if she had forgotten him. Perhaps she had, and you woke him up. There are queer tricks in the world. She is overstrained. She has probably been plotting ever since you burst in last night.” “Against me?” “Yes.” Stephen stood irresolute. “I suppose you and she pulled together?” he said at last. “Get away from us, man! I mind losing you. Yet it’s as well you don’t stop.” “Oh, _that’s_ out of the question,” said Stephen, brushing his cap. “If you’ve guessed anything, I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention it. I’ve no right to ask, but I’d be obliged.” He nodded, and walked slowly along the landing and down the stairs. Rickie accompanied him, and even opened the front door. It was as if Agnes had absorbed the passion out of both of them. The suburb was now wrapped in a cloud, not of its own making. Sigh after sigh passed along its streets to break against dripping walls. The school, the houses were hidden, and all civilization seemed in abeyance. Only the simplest sounds, the simplest desires emerged. They agreed that this weather was strange after such a sunset. “That’s a collie,” said Stephen, listening.