He would have had considerable difficulty in explaining this apparent discrepancy between his scheme of philosophy and his life as a man, had Phyllis asked him to do so; and Phyllis would certainly have asked him to do so had she become acquainted with the contents of his letter to her friend Ella; though Phyllis’ father, having acquired some knowledge of men as well as of phrases, would not have asked for any explanation, knowing that a man’s philosophy is, in its relation to a man’s life, a good deal less important than the fuse is to a bomb.  He would have known that a scheme of philosophy no more brings wisdom into a man’s life than a telescope brings the moon nearer to the earth.  He would have known that for a man to build up a doctrine of philosophy around himself, hoping that the devil will keep on the other side of the paling, is as ridiculous as it is to raise a stockade of roses against a tiger.

Herbert Courtland, however, thought neither of philosophical consistency nor of the advantages of having on one’s side a sound Principle.  He thought of the stockade of roses, not to keep out the beast but to keep love in.  They would live together in the midst of roses forever, and though each might possibly lose something by the transaction, yet what they might lose was nothing compared to what they should certainly win.  Of that he was certain, and therefore he posted his impassioned line with a light heart.

That was on Tuesday.  He had still two days that he might employ thinking over the enterprise to which he was committed; and he certainly made the most of his time in this direction.  Now and again, as he thought of what was in store for him—­for her—­he felt as if he were lifted off the earth, and at other times he felt that he was crushed into the earth—­crushed into it until he had become incapable of any thought that was not of the earth, earthy.  At such moments he felt inclined to walk down to the docks and step aboard the first vessel that was sailing eastward or westward or northward or southward.  Then it was that he found but the scantiest comfort in the consideration of the loveliness of love.  Glorifying life!  No, corrupting life until life is more putrid than death.

That was what love was—­something to fly from.  But still he did not fly from the vision that came to him when he found himself alone after spending the evenings in brilliant company—­a vision of the lovely woman who was waiting for him!  What had she said?  Her soul—­her soul would be lost forevermore?

Well, that showed that she was a woman, at any rate, and he loved her all the better for her womanliness.  He knew very well that if God is a Figure of Speech with men, the losing of a soul is a figure of speech with women.  The expression means only that they have lost the chance of drinking a number of cups of tea in drawing rooms whose doors are now shut to them.  That was what Ella meant, no doubt.  If she were openly to set at defiance certain of those laws by the aid of which society was kept together with a moderate degree of consistency, she would be treated as an outlaw.