Bingham gave one of his surprising and most cultured explosions of laughter. May turned and looked at him with her eyebrows very much raised. "I am laughing at myself," he explained. "I thought to buy things too cheaply." May looked away, pondering on the meaning of his words. At last the meaning occurred to her. "You mean you wanted to flatter me, and--and I began to talk about something else. Was that what made you laugh?" she asked. "That's it," said Bingham. "I wanted to flatter you because it is a pleasure to flatter you, and I forgot what a privilege it was." "Ah!" said May, quietly. "Cheap, cheap, always cheap!" said Bingham. "Cheapness is the curse of our age. The old Radical belief in the right to buy cheaply, that poison has soaked into the very bone of politics. It has contaminated our religion. The pulpit has decided in favour of cheap salvation." May looked round again at Bingham's moonlit profile. "No more hell!" he said, "no more narrow way, no more strait gate to heaven! On the contrary, we bawl ourselves blue asserting that the way is broad, and that every blessed man Jack of us will find it. Yes," he went on more slowly, "we have no use now for a God who can deny to any one a cheap suburban residence in the New Jerusalem. And so," he added, "I flatter you, stupidly, and--and you forgive me." They walked on together for a moment in silence. "I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said. "But I desire your forgiveness. I desire your toleration as far as it will go. Perhaps, if you were to let me talk on, I might go too far for your toleration," and now he turned and looked at her. "You would not go too far," said May. "You are too much detached; you look on----" and here she hesitated. "Oh, damn!" said Bingham, softly; "that is the accursed truth," and he stared before him at the cracks in the pavement as they stood out sharply in the moonlight. "You mustn't mind," said May, soothingly. "I do mind," said Bingham; "I should like to be able to take my own emotions seriously. I should like to feel the importance of my being highly strung, imaginative, a lover of beauty and susceptible to the charms of women. Instead of which I am hopelessly critical of myself. I see myself a blinking fool, among other fools." Bingham's lips went on moving as if he were continuing to speak to himself. "When a woman takes you and your emotions seriously, what happens then?" asked May very softly, and she looked at him with wide open eyes and her eyebrows full of inquiry. "Ah!" sighed Bingham, "that was long ago. I have forgotten--or nearly." Then he added, after a moment's silence: "May I talk to you about the present?" "Yes, do," said May. "There!" said Bingham, resentfully, "see how you trust me! You know that if I begin to step on forbidden ground, you have only to put out your finger and say 'Stop!' and I shall retire amiably, with a jest." "That is part of--of your--your charm," said May, hesitatingly.