He broke off, staring bitterly away from her, his knees drawn up, his chin resting on them.

“And you told your mother about it—­and your father?” she said.

“Yes, every word, and more.  Things I wouldn’t tell you, because you’re a girl, and I’ve still some respect for girls.  Things that happened in Rio and Rosario—­some of the women there, the rich women—­Lord, they’re the devil’s own!” He reflected grimly.  “I told the Pater a few things—­opened his eyes.  He’s a publisher—­Sunday school prizes and that sort of thing.  Stacks of money!  No imagination.  Most people have no imagination.  They see things in a detached way.  They see them, somehow, as if they’re in print or going on on a stage.  But not really happening.  The Pater simply said I ought to be ashamed of myself—­as if I’m not!”

He broke off and tried to light a cigarette with fingers that trembled.  Three, four matches he struck before he got it lighted and puffing.  She sat silent, listening to the murmur of voices and the swishing water.

“Why the devil I’m telling you this I can’t imagine,” he said at last.  “Most girls would have yelled out for help before this.”

“I think, you know,” she said rather breathless, “I think you’re a great idiot!  You ask for things, don’t you?”

“But what is there for a man to do out there?  There’s nothing I want to do except medicine, and that’s past for ever now.  There’s nothing to do but get drunk.  I’ve tried, often—­got jobs, and all that.  But there’s no inducement—­and I’ve told you how easy it is not to starve.”

“But it’s so—­so beastly!  You might as well be dead—­you’re not happy.”

“That’s exactly what I think.  That’s what I’m going to do.  I got ten pounds out of the Mater.  She’s always ready to give me anything if it happens to be the beginning of the month and she’s well off.  The Pater solemnly presented me with three pounds—­that’s ten shillings a week for smokes for the six weeks of the trip.  I’ll buy bull’s-eyes with it, I think.  That’d please him.  That makes thirteen pounds, and there’s ten pounds waiting for me in Sydney.  I’ll have a damned good bust-up then, and then I’ll finish the job for ever.”

“Oh, I do think you’re mad—­raving mad!” she cried, and could say nothing else.

“Of course it’s by no means certain I’ll have enough courage to kill myself.  I rather doubt it!  You see, they didn’t breed me with courage.  They’ve given me porridge in my veins instead of blood!  They press electric buttons for their emotions and keep them down as long as is respectable!  They didn’t give me grit at all—­they gave me convention and respectability.  Everything I wanted to do they restrained because so many of the things I wanted to do seemed natural but were not respectable.  And in the end they made a first-class liar of me.”  There was a long, terrible silence.

“To-night, for a bit, I’m stripped bare here,” he said in a low voice, “letting you see me.  To-morrow I’ll be a nervous, stammering fool, hiding all I feel, swanking like hell about my people, myself and everyone I’ve ever seen, like I was doing to-day when you told me off so beautifully.  To-morrow I’ll be drunk, and I’ll lie to you till all’s blue.  To-night I’m just honest.”