“You have to go through with it,” Dr. Martineau repeated.

“I have.  If I can.  But I warn you I have been near breaking point.  And if I tumble off the high horse, if I can’t keep going regularly there to ride the moral high horse, that Committee will slump into utter scoundrelism.  It will turn out a long, inconsistent, botched, unreadable report that will back up all sorts of humbugging bargains and sham settlements.  It will contain some half-baked scheme to pacify the miners at the expense of the general welfare.  It won’t even succeed in doing that.  But in the general confusion old Cassidy will get away with a series of hauls that may run into millions.  Which will last his time—­damn him!  And that is where we are....  Oh!  I know!  I know!....  I must do this job.  I don’t need any telling that my life will be nothing and mean nothing unless I bring this thing through....

“But the thanklessness of playing this lone hand!”

The doctor watched his friend’s resentful black silhouette against the lights on the steely river, and said nothing for awhile.

“Why did I ever undertake to play it?” Sir Richmond appealed.  “Why has it been put upon me?  Seeing what a poor thing I am, why am I not a poor thing altogether?”

Section 8

“I think I understand that loneliness of yours, said the doctor after an interval.

“I am intolerable to myself.”

“And I think it explains why it is that you turn to women as you do.  You want help; you want reassurance.  And you feel they can give it.”

“I wonder if it has been quite like that,” Sir Richmond reflected.

By an effort Dr. Martineau refrained from mentioning the mother complex.  “You want help and reassurance as a child does,” he said.  “Women and women alone seem capable of giving that, of telling you that you are surely right, that notwithstanding your blunders you are right; that even when you are wrong it doesn’t so much matter, you are still in spirit right.  They can show their belief in you as no man can.  With all their being they can do that.”

“Yes, I suppose they could.”

“They can.  You have said already that women are necessary to make things real for you.”

“Not my work,” said Sir Richmond.  “I admit that it might be like that, but it isn’t like that.  It has not worked out like that.  The two drives go on side by side in me.  They have no logical connexion.  All I can say is that for me, with my bifid temperament, one makes a rest from the other, and is so far refreshment and a renewal of energy.  But I do not find women coming into my work in any effectual way.”

The doctor reflected further.  “I suppose,” he began and stopped short.

He heard Sir Richmond move in his chair, creaking an interrogation.

“You have never,” said the doctor, “turned to the idea of God?”

Sir Richmond grunted and made no other answer for the better part of a minute.