“Then you think, you really do think, that there isn’t any reason why I shouldn’t cut in?”

“No, Heaven bless you; no reason in the world, as far as I’m concerned.  For God’s sake cut in and win; the sooner the better.  Now, this minute, if you feel like it.”

But still he lingered, for the worst was yet to come.  He lingered, nursing a colossal scruple.  Poor Spinks’s honour was dear to him because it was less the gift of nature than the supreme imitative effort of his adoring heart.  He loved honour because Rickman loved it; just as he had loved Flossie for the same reason.  These were the only ways in which he could imitate him; and like all imitators he exaggerated the master’s manner.

“I say, I don’t know what you’ll think of me.  I said I’d never let on to Flossie that I cared; and I didn’t mean to, I didn’t on my word.  I don’t know how it happened; but to-night we got talking—­to tell you the truth I thought I was doing my best to get her to make it up with you—­”

“Thanks; that was kind,” said Rickman in a queer voice which put Spinks off a bit.

“I was really, Razors.  I do believe I’d have died rather than let her know how I felt about her; but before I could say knife—­”

“She got it out of you?”

“No, she didn’t do anything of the sort.  It was all me.  Like a damn fool I let it out—­some’ow.”

Nothing could have been more demoralizing than the spectacle of Spinks’s face as he delivered himself of his immense confession; so fantastically did it endeavour to chasten rapture with remorse.  Rickman controlled himself the better to enjoy it; for Spinks, taken seriously, yielded an inexhaustible vein of purest comedy.  “Oh, Spinky,” he said with grave reproach, “how could you?”

“Well, I know it was a beastly dishonourable thing to do; but you see I was really most awkwardly situated.”

“I daresay you were.”  It was all very well to laugh; but in spite of his amusement he sympathized with Spinky’s delicacy.  He also had found himself in awkward situations more than once.

“Still,” continued Spinks with extreme dejection, “I can’t think how I came to let it out.”

That, and the dejection, was too much for Rickman’s gravity.

“If you want the truth, Spinky, the pity was you ever kept it in.”

And his laughter, held in, piled up, monstrous, insane, ungovernable, broke forth, dispersing the last scruple that clouded the beatitude of Spinks.

CHAPTER LXV

Often, after half a night spent in a vain striving to shape some immense idea into the form of beauty, be had turned the thing neck and crop out of his mind and gone to sleep on it.  Whenever he did this he was sure to wake up and find it there waiting for him, full-formed and perfect as he had dreamed it and desired.  It had happened so often that he had grown to trust this profounder inspiration of his sleep.