Arthur passed, though he noted, the unconscious superciliousness in this tribute; he felt that it was a genuine tribute, that, for all its discoloration in its passage through the tainted outer part of Ross’s nature, it had come from the unspoiled, untainted, deepest part.  Fortunately for us all, the gold in human nature remains gold, whatever its alloys from base contacts; and it is worth the mining, though there be but a grain of it to the ton of dross.  As Ross spoke Arthur warmed to him.  “You must come to see us,” he said cordially.

Ross became embarrassed, so embarrassed that all his ability to command his feelings went for nothing.  “Thank you,” said he hurriedly, “but I’m here only for a few hours.  I go away to-night.  I came about a matter that—­that—­I want to get back as soon as possible.”

Arthur was mystified by the complete transformation of the self-complacent, superior Ross of a few minutes before.  He now noted that Ross was looking almost ill, his eyes sunken, the lids red at the edges, as if from loss of sleep.  Under Arthur’s scrutiny his embarrassment increased to panic.  He nervously shifted the reins, made the horse restless, shook hands with Arthur, reined in, tried to speak, said only, “I must be off—­my horse is getting nervous,” and was gone.

Arthur looked after him.  “That’s the sort of chap I was on the way to being when father pulled me up,” he reflected.  “I wonder if I’ll ever get sense enough not to have a sneaking envy of him—­and regret?”

If he could have looked in upon Ross’s mind, he might have been abruptly thrust far along the toilsome road toward his goal.  In this world, roses and thorns have a startling, preposterous way of suddenly exchanging natures so that what was thorn becomes fairest rose, and what was rose becomes most poisonous of thorns.  Ross had just fallen an amazed and incredulous victim to this alchemy.  Though somewhat uncomfortable and downright unhappy at times, he had been, on the whole, well pleased with himself and his prospects until he heard that Adelaide was actually about to marry Dory.  His content collapsed with the foundation on which it was built—­the feeling that Adelaide was for no other man, that if at any time he should change his mind he would find her waiting to welcome him gratefully.  He took train for Saint X, telling himself that after he got there he could decide what to do.  In fact, when he had heard that the wedding was about to be, it was over and Adelaide and Dory were off for New York and Europe; but he did not find this out until he reached Saint X. The man who gave him that final and overwhelming news noticed no change in his face, though looking for signs of emotion; nor did Ross leave him until he had confirmed the impression of a heart at ease.  Far along the path between the Country Club and Point Helen he struck into the woods and, with only the birds and the squirrels as witnesses, gave way to his feelings.