even in the most intelligent and farseeing types.  The desire just points to glowing satisfactions and illusions.  Quite equally I think the desire of the female for the male ignores its end.  Nature has set about this business in a cheap sort of way.  She is like some pushful advertising tradesman.  She isn’t frank with us; she just humbugs us into what she wants with us.  All very well in the early Stone Age—­when the poor dear things never realized that their mutual endearments meant all the troubles and responsibilities of parentage.  But now—!”

He shook his head sideways and twirled the green umbrella like an animated halo around his large broad-minded face.

Sir Richmond considered.  “Desire has never been the chief incentive of my relations with women.  Never.  So far as I can analyze the thing, it has been a craving for a particular sort of life giving companionship.”

“That I take it is Nature’s device to keep the lovers together in the interest of the more or less unpremeditated offspring.”

“A poor device, if that is its end.  It doesn’t keep parents together; more often it tears them apart.  The wife or the mistress, so soon as she is encumbered with children, becomes all too manifestly not the companion goddess....”

Sir Richmond brooded over his sculls and thought.

“Throughout my life I have been an exceedingly busy man.  I have done a lot of scientific work and some of it has been very good work.  And very laborious work.  I’ve travelled much.  I’ve organized great business developments.  You might think that my time has been fairly well filled without much philandering.  And all the time, all the time, I’ve been—­about women—­like a thirsty beast looking for water....  Always.  Always.  All through my life.”

Dr. Martineau waited through another silence.

“I was very grave about it at first.  I married young.  I married very simply and purely.  I was not one of those young men who sow a large crop of wild oats.  I was a fairly decent youth.  It suddenly appeared to me that a certain smiling and dainty girl could make herself into all the goddesses of my dreams.  I had but to win her and this miracle would occur.  Of course I forget now the exact things I thought and felt then, but surely I had some such persuasion.  Or why should I have married her?  My wife was seven years younger than myself,—­a girl of twenty.  She was charming.  She is charming.  She is a wonderfully intelligent and understanding woman.  She has made a home for me—­a delightful home.  I am one of those men who have no instinct for home making.  I owe my home and all the comfort and dignity of my life to her ability.  I have no excuse for any misbehaviour—­so far as she is concerned.  None at all.  By all the rules I should have been completely happy.  But instead of my marriage satisfying me, it presently released a storm of long-controlled desires and imprisoned