'We two,' said Mr. Cardan one late afternoon some fortnight after Chelifer's arrival, 'we two seem to be rather left out of it.'

'Left out of what?' asked Mr. Falx.

'Out of love,' said Mr. Cardan. He looked down over the balustrade. On the next terrace below, Chelifer and Mrs. Aldwinkle were walking slowly up and down. On the terrace below that strolled the diminished and foreshortened figures of Calamy and Miss Thriplow. 'And the other two,' said Mr. Cardan, as if continuing aloud the enumeration which he and his companion had made in silence, with the eye alone, 'your young pupil and the little niece, have gone for a walk in the hills. Can you ask what we're left out of?'

Mr. Falx nodded. 'To tell you the truth,' he said, 'I don't much like the atmosphere of this house. Mrs. Aldwinkle's an excellent woman, of course, in many respects. But...' he hesitated.

'Yes; but...' Mr. Cardan nodded. 'I see your point.'

'I shall be rather glad when I have got young Hovenden away from here,' said Mr. Falx.

'If you get him alone I shall be surprised.'

Mr. Falx went on, shaking his head: 'There's a certain moral laxity, a certain self-indulgence.... I confess I don't like this way of life. I may be prejudiced; but I don't like it.'

'Every one has his favourite vice,' said Mr. Cardan. 'You forget, Mr. Falx, that we probably don't like your way of life.'

'I protest,' said Mr. Falx hotly. 'Is it possible to compare my way of life with the way of life in this house? Here am I, working incessantly for a noble cause, devoting myself to the public good...'

'Still,' said Mr. Cardan, 'they do say that there's nothing more intoxicating than talking to a crowd of people and moving them the way you want them to go; they do say, too, that it's piercingly delicious to listen to applause. And people who have tried both have told me that the joys of power are far preferable, if only because they are a good deal more enduring, to those one can derive from wine or love. No, no, Mr. Falx; if we chose to climb on to our high horses we should be as amply justified in disapproving of your laxity and self-indulgence as you are in disapproving of ours. I always notice that the most grave and awful denunciations of obscenity in literature are to be found precisely in those periodicals whose directors are most notoriously alcoholic. And the preachers and politicians with the greatest vanity, the most inordinate itch for power and notoriety, are always those who denounce most fiercely the corruptions of the age. One of the greatest triumphs of the nineteenth century was to limit the connotation of the word 'immoral" in such a way that, for practical purposes, only those were immoral who drank too much or made too copious love. Those who indulged in any or all of the other deadly sins could look down in righteous indignation on the lascivious and the gluttonous. And not only could but can--even now. This exaltation of two out of the seven deadly sins is most unfair. In the name of all lechers and boozers I most solemnly protest against the invidious distinction made to our prejudice. Believe me, Mr. Falx, we are no more reprehensible than the rest of you. Indeed, compared with some of your political friends, I feel I have a right to consider myself almost a saint.'

'Still,' said Mr. Falx, whose face, where it was not covered by his prophetical white beard, had become very red with ill-suppressed indignation, 'you won't persuade me out of my conviction that these are not the most healthy surroundings for a young fellow like Hovenden at the most impressionable period of his life. Be as paradoxical and ingenious as you like: you will not persuade me, I repeat.'

'No need to repeat, I assure you,' said Mr. Cardan, shaking his head. 'Did you think I ever supposed I could persuade you? You don't imagine I'd waste my time trying to persuade a full-grown man with fixed opinions of the truth of something he doesn't already believe? If you were twelve years old, even if you were twenty, I might try. But at your age--no, no.'

'Then why do you argue, if you don't want to persuade?' asked Mr. Falx.

'For the sake of argument,' Mr. Cardan replied, 'and because one must murder the time somehow.

Come ingannar questi noiosi e lenti Giorni di vita cui si lungo tedio E fastidio insoffribile accompagna Or io t'insegnero.

I could write a better handbook of the art than old Parini.'

'I'm sorry,' said Mr. Falx, 'but I don't know Italian.'

'Nor should I,' said Mr. Cardan, 'if I had your unbounded resources for killing time. Unhappily, I was born without much zeal for the welfare of the working classes.'

'Working classes...' Mr. Falx swooped down on the words. Passionately he began to talk. What was that text, thought Mr. Cardan, about the measure with which ye mete? How fearfully applicable it was! For the last ten minutes he'd been boring poor old Mr. Falx. And now Mr. Falx had turned round and was paying him back with his own measure--but, oh Lord, pressed down and, heaven help us! running over. He looked down over the balustrade. On the lower terraces the couples were still parading up and down. He wondered what they were saying; he wished he were down there to listen. Boomingly, Mr. Falx played his prophetic part.