“Oh, you can’t go back further than the cook,” said Mr. Corrie finally. “But the cause,” she persisted, in a low, anxious voice, “is the sum total of all the circumstances.” “No, no,” said Mr. Corrie impenetrably, with a hard face--“you can’t take the thing back into the mists of the past.” He dropped her and took up a lead coming from a man at the other end of the table. “Oh,” thought Miriam coldly, appraising him with a glance, the slightly hollow temples, the small skull, a little flattened, the lack of height in the straight forehead, why had she not noticed that before?--the general stinginess of the head balancing the soft keen eyes and whimsical mouth--“that’s you; you won’t, you can’t look at anything from the point of view of life as a whole”--she shivered and drew away from the whole spectacle and pageant of Newlands’ life. It all had this behind it, a man, able to do and decide things who looked about like a ferret for small clever things, causes, immediate near causes that appeared to explain, and explained nothing and had nothing to do with anything. Her hot brain whirled back--signalmen, in bad little houses with bad cooking--tinned foods--they’re a link--they bring all sorts of things into their signal boxes. They ought to bring the fewest possible dangerous things. Something ought to be done. Lawyers were quite happy, pleased with themselves if they made some one person guilty--put their finger on him. “Can’t go back into the mists of the past ... you _didn’t understand_, you’re not capable of understanding any real _movements_ of thought. I always knew it. You think--in propositions. Can’t go back. Of course you can go back, and round and up and everywhere. Things as a whole ... you understand nothing. We’ve done. That’s you. Mr. Corrie--a leading Q.C. Heavens.” In that moment Miriam felt that she left Newlands for ever. She glanced at Mrs. Corrie and Mrs. Craven--bright beautiful coloured birds, fading slowly year by year in the stifling atmosphere, the hard brutal laughing complacent atmosphere of men’s minds ... men’s minds, staring at things, ignorantly, knowing “everything” in an irritating way and yet _ignorant_. CHAPTER X 1