“The majority of men in your Service never realize it,” Charles Verity returned.  “They run in blinkers from first to last.—­Not that I underrate their usefulness.  They are honest, painstaking, thoroughly reliable, according to their lights.  They do excellent journeyman work.  But there lies the heart of the whole matter.—­Are you content to do journeyman work only; or do you aspire to something greater?—­If the former, then you had best forget me and all I have told you this evening as fast as possible.  For it will prove a hindrance rather than a help, confusing the issues.—­No—­no—­listen a moment, my dear boy”—­

This kindly, indulgently even, as Tom made a gesture of repudiation and began to speak.

“If the latter—­well, the door stands open upon achievement by no means contemptible, as the opportunities of modern life go; but, it is only fair to warn you, upon possibilities of trouble, even of disaster, by no means contemptible either.  For, remember, the world is so constituted that if you elect to drive, rather than be driven, you must be prepared to take heavy risks, pay heavy penalties.  Understand”—­

He laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“I do not pose as a teacher, still less as a propagandist.  I do not attempt to direct the jury.  The choice rests exclusively with yourself.—­And here rid your mind of any cant about moral obligations.  Both ways have merit, both bring rewards—­of sorts—­are equally commendable, equally right.  Only this—­whether you choose blinkers, your barrel between the shafts and another man’s whip tickling your loins, or the reins in your own hands and the open road ahead, be faithful to your choice.  Stick to it, through evil report as well as through good.”

He lifted his hand off Tom’s shoulder.  And the latter, looking round at him was struck—­in mingled admiration and repulsion—­by his likeness to some shapely bird of prey, with fierce hooked beak and russet-grey eyes, luminous, cruel perhaps, yet very sad.

“Above all be careful in the matter of your affections,” Sir Charles went on, his voice deepening.  “As you value your career, the pride of your intellect,—­yes—­and the pride of your manhood itself, let nothing feminine tempt you to be unfaithful to your choice.  Tempt you to be of two minds, to turn aside, to turn back.  For, so surely as you do, you will find the hell of disappointment, the hell of failure and regret, waiting wide-mouthed to swallow you, and whatever span of life may remain to you, bodily up.”

He checked himself, breaking off abruptly, the veil lowered again, the curtain drawn into place.

“There,” he said, “we have talked enough, perhaps more than enough.  You have a long day before you to-morrow, so my dear boy, go to bed.  My quarters are down here.”

He made a gesture towards the dark corridor opening off the far side of the hall.

“You know your way?  The room on the right of the landing.”