Her mind leapt out to the moving garden, recapturing it scornfully. He is conceited about his difficulties and differences. He doesn’t think about mine. But he couldn’t talk like this unless he knew I were different. He knows it, but is not thinking about me. “Don’t you think people are all alike, really?” she said impatiently. “Our common humanity,” he said bitingly. She had lost a thread. They were divided. She felt stiffly about for a conventional phrase. “I expect that most men are the average manly man with the average manly faults.” She had read that somewhere. It was sly and wrong, written by somebody who wanted to flatter. “It is wonderful, _wonderful_ that you should say that to me.” He stared at the grass with angry eyes. His mouth smiled. His teeth were large and even. They seemed to smile by themselves. The dark, flexible lips curled about them in an unwilling grimace. “He’s in some horrible pit,” thought Miriam, shrinking from the sight of the desolate garden. “What are you going to do in life?” she said suddenly. During the long silent interval she had felt a growing longing to hurt him in some way. “If I had my will--if--I had my will--I should escape from the world.” “What would you do?” “I should join a brotherhood.” “Oh....” “That is the life I should choose.” “Do you see how unfair everything is?” “Um?” “If a woman joins an order she must confess to a man.” “Yes,” he said indifferently.... “I can’t carry out my wish, I can’t carry out my dearest wish.” “You have a dearest wish; that is a good deal.” She ought to ask him why not and what he was going to do. But what did it matter? He was going unwillingly along some dreary path. There was some weak helplessness about him. He would always have a grievance and be sorry for himself ... self-pity. She remained silent. “I’m training for the Bar,” he murmured, staring away across the neighbouring gardens. “Why--in Heaven’s name?” “I have no choice.” “But it’s absurd. You are almost a priest.” “The Bar. That is my bourne.” “Lawyers are the most ignorant, awful people.” “I cannot claim superiority.” He laughed bitterly. “But you can; you are. You can never be a lawyer.” “It is necessary to do one’s duty. Occupation does not matter.” “There you are; you’re a Jesuit already,” said Miriam angrily, seeing the figure at her side shrouded in a habit, wrapped in tranquillity, pacing along a cloister, lost to her. But if he stayed in the world and became a lawyer he would be equally lost to her. “I have been ... _mad_,” he muttered; “a madman ... nothing but the cloister can give me peace--nothing but the cloister.” “I don’t know. It seems like running away.” “Running towards, running towards----”