"N-no. There _is_ a medium. A woman needn't be a fool or a philosopher, nor yet a saint or a devil. It exists somewhere, that golden mean." "Oh, no doubt." "It's odd how that notion of the perfect woman sticks to you. How the devil did I get hold of it, I wonder?" Stanistreet made no answer. It was sufficiently evident that Tyson had got it from his wife. The odd thing was that Tyson was unaware of this. He seemed to have no doubt whatever that his marriage with the perfect woman had been arranged for in heaven, though somehow it had failed to come off on earth. A delusion not uncommon with men of Tyson's stamp. "I believe," said Tyson, "it's a what d'ye call 'em--category--innate idea--_a priori_ form of the masculine intelligence. I've never seen a man yet who hadn't it somewhere about him. And I've seen most sorts. Terrific bounders, too, some of them." A year ago Stanistreet would have laughed at this, now he smiled. Tyson lay back in his chair and fell into a waking dream. He spoke slowly, in the curious muffled voice of the dreamer. "The perfect woman--the eternal, incomprehensible divinity, all-wise, all-good, all-loving, the guardian of the soul--I believe in it, I adore it; but, unfortunately, I have never met it." "My dear Tyson, I doubt if you and I would know it if we did meet it." Tyson said nothing. He had closed his eyelids. He was following his dream. Presently he spoke. "I say, Stanistreet, do you believe in miracles?" Stanistreet looked down. Only the other day he had seen a miracle and believed. And he himself was a greater miracle than the one he saw. But the experience was not one that he cared to talk about. "They don't happen here, where people are so damned clever. But I know that they happen--sometimes--over there--in the East--_ex oriente lux_." He rose. "Some day I shall go there or thereabouts, and see." "And leave your wife here?" "That's it. Do you think I ought to go?" "I think it doesn't matter in the very least." "What do you mean?" "I mean that whether you go or stay you'll kill her. But go, for God's sake! It's the kindest way." CHAPTER XX A MAN AND A SPHINX The idea of leaving England had occurred to Tyson more than once before. In Stanistreet's rooms it took its first vague shape. But Louis's parting words had a sting in them; they were at once a shock to his feelings and a challenge to his will. Stanistreet had read him thoroughly. In plain language he had entertained serious thoughts of deserting Mrs. Nevill Tyson. Desertion? It was an ugly word. He dismissed his idea. He would dree his weird. He wasn't going to funk the thing--not he! The New Life had been found impossible. No matter. _Certum quia impossibile_. Nothing like a big thumping paradox when you were about it. Impossibility had the smile and lure of haunting deity, the glamor of the arcana. That night he dedicated himself with more promises and vows.