But as this thought came he jumped from his chair.  It was, when faced in a concrete fashion, hideously unpalatable as touching his pure, fair star.

“You are rather restless to-day, John,” the Professor said, as his old pupil went hastily towards the open window and looked out.

“Yes,” said John Derringham.  “It is going to rain, and I must go to Bristol this afternoon.  I have to see a man on business.”

Cheiron’s left penthouse went up into his forehead.

“Matters complicating?” was all he said.

“Yes, the very devil,” responded John Derringham.

“Beginning to feel the noose already, poor lad?”

“Er—­no, not exactly,” and he turned round.  “But I don’t quite know what I ought to do about her—­Mrs. Cricklander.”

“A question of honor?”

“I suppose so.”

The Professor grunted, and then chuckled.

“A man’s honor towards a woman lasts as long as his love.  When that goes, it goes with it—­to the other woman.”

“You cynic!” said John Derringham.

“It is the truth, my son.  A man’s point of view of such things shifts with his inclinations, and if other people are not likely to know, he does not experience any qualms in thinking of the woman’s feelings—­it is only of what the world will think of him if it finds him out.  Complete cowards, all of us!”

John Derringham frowned.  He hated to know this was true.

“Well, I am not going to marry Mrs. Cricklander, Master,” he announced after a while.

“I am very glad to hear it,” Cheiron said heartily.  “I never like to see a fine ship going upon the rocks.  All your vitality would have been drawn out of you by those octopus arms.”

“I do not agree with you in the least about any of those points,” John Derringham said stiffly.  “I have the highest respect for Mrs. Cricklander—­but I can’t do it.”

“Well, you can thank whichever of your stars has brought you to this conclusion,” growled the Professor.  “I suppose I’ll pull through somehow financially,” the restless visitor went on, pacing the floor—­“anyway, for a few years; there may be something more to be squeezed out of Derringham.  I must see.”

“Well, if you are not marrying that need not distress you,” Cheiron consoled him with.  “Those things only matter if a man has a son.”

John Derringham stopped abruptly in his walk and looked at his old master.

His words gave him a strange twinge, but he crushed it down, and went on again: 

“It is a curse, this want of money,” he said.  “It makes a man do base things that his soul revolts against.”  And then, in his restless moving, he absently picked up a volume of Aristotle, and his eye caught this sentence:  “The courageous man therefore faces danger and performs acts of courage for the sake of what is noble.”

And what did an honorable man do?  But this question he would not go further into.