His father had left him a steady income quite sufficient for his needs, and from his mother he had inherited a fluctuating interest from property abroad. Had he been poor, it is probable that he would have made a career for himself. His idleness was undoubtedly due to the lack of necessity: that poor man's stimulus. Unfortunately for his comfort, his vitality resented inaction. With no outlook his restlessness fed on itself, and he waxed irritable, a prey to sudden moods. He was not a man to live alone. Healthy, impulsive, and full of life, he had nothing of the celibate in his mixed composition. But a certain fastidiousness held him back from the casual vice of many men, and his hot blood was generally balanced by the finer instincts of his brain. Nevertheless the man suffered. And, since his memorable visit to the specialist, his imagination had been disturbed, to a degree hardly healthy, by a physical self-consciousness. It bred in him a profound distrust. It set him apart from other men. It seemed to give him a moral excuse for an irresolute habit of thought. He had kept the secret to himself, fearing ridicule from his kind and with a shrewd appreciation of its doubtful value in feminine circles. Once he had nearly confided in Jill, realizing that with the girl sex still lay in abeyance, almost ignored by her clean young soul. But something had checked him; a feeling perhaps that it led into a further field, impossible to discuss with her, this child who claimed his loyal respect. And meanwhile Fantine lured him on with the skill of her vast experience. The drop scene fell amid loud applause, and lights flashed up about the house. McTaggart felt a sudden thirst, but dare not leave the sheltering box unaware whether Mr. Cadell would take advantage of the entr'acte. Fantine turned and smiled at him, tears not far from the topaz eyes, a faint colour in her face, soft with the pleasure of the music. "Like it?" He knew as he said the words that the question was superfluous, and went on a little quickly, full of his own immediate cares. "We'll have supper at the Savoy--it's sure to be packed to-night." He drew out his watch as he spoke, and glanced at it with a slight frown. "Jove! it's getting pretty late..." Fantine smiled, resigning herself. She knew exactly what he wanted, guessing him bored by the music. "Would you like to go before the end? After all"--she checked a sigh--"one knows by heart the tragic story. We could slip out before the finale." The man brightened visibly. "Well, you see--it's like this--I haven't reserved a table to-night. We shall have to take our chance, so we'd better be there before the rush."