"Ah but then you see I'm not a man, but a combination of circumstances." "I don't understand." "No? It is rather difficult of comprehension, I admit. What I mean is, that the circumstances of my having been an orphan of my bringing up, my command of money, and above all the circumstances of the age I live in, have all made me the curious creature I am." "Oh I you admit then that you are curious." "So much so that I doubt if any woman in existence would satisfy me as a companion for more than a few days. A fast woman irritates me, a clever woman enrages me, and a good one bores me." "And Lady Errington?" "Is happier with her stupid adoring husband than she would be with a bundle of contradictions like myself." "Yet she does not love this stupid adoring husband." "I never said that," observed Eustace hastily. "Not in words, certainly, but you hinted---- "I hinted nothing, because I'm not sure--how can I be when I tell you I don't know Lady Errington?" "You appear to have studied her pretty closely at all events." "A mere whim on my part, I assure you; besides, Guy has written to me about his wife, and I--well I've gathered a lot of nonsensical ideas from his letters." "Then there is a possibility that she does not love him," persisted Otterburn, a trifle maliciously. "How annoying you are, Macjean," said Eustace in a vexed tone. "Of course there are always possibilities. In this case, however, I can only refer you to Heine, 'There is always one who loves and one who is loved." Otterburn saw that Eustace was rather annoyed at his persistency, so did not press the point, but contented himself with observing: "Well, I think I know Lady Errington's character pretty well by this time. She is a charming woman with a bad history, a serious face, and a wifely regard for an adoring husband. Am I right?" "Well, yes--to a certain extent." "Still, all this does not explain the whole of your incomplete Madonna phrase. Tell me exactly what you mean." Eustace thought for a moment, and then began to speak in his slow languid voice. "Last time I was in Italy," he said dreamily, "I one day strolled into a village church built on the side of a hill above the blue waters of a still lake. Outside it was a hot, brilliant day, something like this, but within all was coolness and dim twilight. "At a side altar tall candles glimmered before a shrine of the Virgin, and cast their pale glow on a large picture of the Madonna which was hanging upon the wall of the chapel. I don't know the name of the artist who painted the figure, but it made a great impression upon me. I'm afraid I was impressionable in those days. We all lose our finer feelings as the years go by.